Better Days Than This
by Q4
Summary: Following a healthcare policy speech at a cancer research fundraiser, the president and several members of his staff find themselves trapped in the basement of a hotel on the verge of collapse.
1. Chapter 1

"JED!"

It was the last thing Bartlet remembered hearing before he was slammed down onto the floor, a body shielding him from the force of the blast that ripped through the basement corridor of the hotel. As the president slowly stirred, his head pounding from having connected with the tile floor, he became aware of the unnatural stillness around him, a silence deafening in its wake. He moved slightly and realized that he was pinned under a warm weight. And then it hit him: it had been Leo's voice that yelled his name in warning, and Leo's body that shoved him to the floor. Bartlet turned carefully, gently rolling out from under the man lying on top of him. In the darkness of the damaged hallway, Bartlet couldn't see his friend, but after sitting up on his knees, he bent over Leo's body, carefully shaking his shoulder.

"Leo?" Bartlet said gently, "Leo?"

An unsteady voice answered from somewhere behind Jed, "Mr. President?"

He recognized the worried timbre of Ron Butterfield. "I'm okay, Ron, but Leo..." Fighting dizziness, Butterfield reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed a small flashlight, which he shined in the direction of the president's voice. Bartlet turned toward the light. "Are you all right, Ron?"

Butterfield carefully made his way toward Bartlet, limping over debris, while he spoke into the com unit embedded in his watch. "Code red, all units, code red, please respond." But no answer came through the receiver in his ear. With swift movement, the agent pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and pressed a button, but the call wouldn't go through.

"No service down here, huh?" Bartlet asked.

Butterfield looked at Bartlet but did not answer the question. "I need to assess your condition, Mr. President." Ignoring the pain in his right ankle, the secret service agent knelt next to Bartlet, gently checking his limbs, head and torso for any obvious injuries. But other than a slight bump on his forehead and a cut across Jed's cheek, he seemed fine. Butterfield pressed his hands against Bartlet's chest and abdomen. "Does anything hurt, Mr. President?"

"No, Ron, I told you, I'm fine, but Leo's not. Let me see that light, please." Knowing there would be no stopping him, Butterfield handed over the flashlight, sighing slightly as Bartlet shined it on McGarry. The president hissed a sharp intake of air. "Oh God..." Jed yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the bloody wound on the back of Leo's neck. He couldn't completely hide the panic in his timbre, "Ron..."

Butterfield checked McGarry over, much the same way he had the commander-in-chief, but when he pressed against Leo's abdomen, the chief of staff wailed in pain. "Feels like a couple of broken ribs, and there could be internal injuries, Mr. President," Ron said, trying to keep his voice as calm and even as possible. "I need you to sit here quietly, sir, while I check the damage to this area, and see if there's a way out."

"We're cut off down here, aren't we." It was a statement, not a question.

"There are procedures for this scenario, Mr. President," Butterfield responded calmly.

"What about the rest of our people, Ron?"

"My priority is to get you out of here and to a secure location."

"But--"

"--Mr. President," Ron stared hard into the determined eyes of Bartlet, "we've traveled this road before, and you know that your safety isn't up for debate."

"And you know how I feel about that," Bartlet growled.

"Yes sir, but I also know what I have to do," Ron said, unyielding.

Bartlet thought about pleading with the man for a moment, but he knew it would be a waste of time, so he merely nodded. Butterfield took the small flashlight and quickly determined that the hallway was sealed off on both sides of them by fallen concrete and a few mangled pieces of support steal. Ron swallowed down the lump in his throat; if the supports of the building had taken a direct hit, there was no telling how long it would be until whatever was left of the hotel crashed in on them. He glanced down and saw the leg of one of his agents sticking out from under some rubble. Ron bent down, pulling away a few pieces of concrete until he realized that the agent was dead. He shined his light on the man's face and Butterfield's heart leapt into his throat. He closed his eyes against the unwanted emotions flooding him, and after a moment of shoving it down, Butterfield refocused and reached into the man's coat pocket and removed the flashlight he knew he'd find there, and the lighter that happened to be there, slipping both into his own pocket. Then he tried the downed agent's com unit and cell phone, but like his own, neither was working.

Remaining on his haunches, Butterfield aimed his flashlight around the ceiling of the enclosed area, and his heart shot up into his throat when he saw the steel girder hanging precariously above Barlet. "Mr. President!" Ron unceremoniously pulled Bartlet away from the impending danger, guiding him to stand close to the only sturdy wall that seemed to be left in the corridor; and a moment later, he moved the unconscious chief of staff, laying him on the floor by the president's feet. Jed knelt down and laid a soft hand on Leo's chest, assuring himself that McGarry was still breathing. He looked up at Butterfield whose stance told him he was not only on high alert for any impending danger, but the agent appeared to be in deep thought.

"How bad is this, Ron?"

Knowing he couldn't keep the truth from Bartlet, Butterfield looked into the hazel eyes staring at him and said, "It's bad, sir."

"What the hell happened?"

Butterfield shook his head. "Pipe bomb, Mr. President. I know that much from the sound of the explosion and the damage it did to this corridor."

"But how--"

"--Mr. President, I don't know. I don't know, but..." Butterfield swallowed down a mouthful of inexplicable guilt. "Someone knew you were exiting this way following tonight's reception. Someone knew, and managed to get past all of the sweeps we made on this building. Someone knew how to get past secret service procedures. Someone knew."

Bartlet shook his head. "It doesn't seem plausible, Ron."

"No sir, it does not." Butterfield looked into the president's face. "But here we are."

"What about the rest of our people?"

Butterfield shook his head. "No way to know, Mr. President." He swallowed hard, forcing a calm into his voice he did not feel. "I found the body of Agent Ortega; he was walking directly behind you and Mr. McGarry when it happened."

The implication of the fate of those walking behind Ortega made Bartlet's mouth run dry. "What about Toby and Sam...and the other agents?"

"I don't know, sir."

Before Bartlet could think about it too long, the moan from his best friend grabbed his attention. "Leo? Leo, can you hear me?"

McGarry's eyes fluttered slightly, then opened wide, dazed, as he whispered, "Mr. President... thank God." He squinted and looked up at Butterfield. "Pipe bomb..."

"Yeah." Butterfield stared at McGarry for a moment. "You hear the ignition?"

"Felt it," McGarry said weakly.

Butterfield nodded with understanding. "Yes, sir."

Bartlet gently took Leo's hand in his own, the reality of what his best friend had done dawning upon him. But McGarry ignored the gesture, instead looking at Butterfield.

"Ron, you need to get the president outta here..."

"That is my sole priority, Mr. McGarry," Ron assured him.

Realizing what the two of them were saying, Bartlet growled, "We're not leaving you here, Leo." He turned to Butterfield, raising his voice, "We're not leaving him, Ron. _I'm_ not leaving him."

"Mr. President, I can have only one priority, and _you_ are it."

"And Leo is mine, and I'm not leaving him here."

"Jed..." The unusual use of his first name had the desired effect and Bartlet's eyes darted to Leo's. "It's too risky to think about me in this, old friend. You have to understand that."

"Well I don't," Bartlet responded acerbically.

"Ron's duty is clear, Mr. President, and so is yours."

"I have a duty to you, Leo," Bartlet whispered, his voice tinged with emotion.

"No sir," McGarry said weakly, "no you don't." Bartlet's hazel eyes appeared to almost fire up in the low light, but Leo continued, "Your duty is to the office you serve." He swallowed dryly, "It's to the people of this country whom you represent. It's not to me."

"We're not having this conversation, Leo."

McGarry squeezed the hand holding his. "Ron is gonna get you outta here, and make sure you're secure. Then he'll send someone in after me...right Ron?"

"Yes sir," Butterfield answered carefully.

"This damned building could fall down by then Leo."

"Nah," Leo smiled slightly, "it won't. They built this thing to last." Bartlet glared at him. "It's still standing, isn't it?"

Fuming, Bartlet said, "I hope you're prepared to use your weapon on me, Agent Butterfield, because that's what it's going to take to get me to leave my best friend in here."

Ron knelt next to the president. "Sir, I will not hesitate to pick you up and carry you out of here kicking and screaming if I have to."

Leo squeezed Bartlet's hand once more. "You're outnumbered, sir."

"I'm the president, Leo, and I'll make the call--"

"--All due respect, sir," Ron said, "but when it concerns your safety and security, it's not your call, it's mine."

Finished with the conversation, Butterfield stood, and using his flashlight to try and find a way out, he began to examine their enclosure. Bartlet looked down in the low light and saw Leo's face grimace in pain.

"What can I do, Leo?"

McGarry shook his head slightly. "Nothing, sir. It's not that bad, really." Leo tried his best to smile at Jed. "I'll be okay."

Bartlet pulled his suit jacket off, folded it and gently placed it under Leo's head, letting his right hand settle softly on McGarry's shoulder. "Rest easy, Leo. I'll be right here."


	2. Chapter 2

"Agent Parnam," Josh said angrily, "you have told me absolutely nothing about the president and the rest of our people who are in there."

"We're still assessing it, Mr. Lyman," Parnum returned, "all we know at this time is that a pipe bomb went off in the basement, and we can't raise any of our agents either by com unit or cell phone. The damage to the area that the president and his party were most likely in at the time of the blast was substantial."

"So now what?" CJ asked.

"We wait for emergency crews to get through the debris and see what's what. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Josh and CJ exchanged a frustrated look. "This one scares me," he said softly.

"Yeah, me too." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to get back, there's a press conference in twenty minutes."

"What are you going to say?"

CJ fought off the fear creeping up her throat as she shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

* * *

"I'm not reading this," Hoynes growled, crumpling up the paper. "Don't you have any sense of conscience, Jeffrey? Any at all?"

"It's an opportunity, Mr. Vice President, and--"

"--No, Jeffrey. This is _not_ an opportunity; it's a potential tragedy." Hoynes glanced toward the extra security detail that had been in place since the explosion, and his anger rose along with his voice, "The president, his chief of staff, and two key communications people are missing with his entire team of secret service agents. My God, Jeffrey, we don't know if they're alive or dead, and you're trying to hand me some sort of victory speech. Look, just get out of my office. NOW."

Jeffrey frowned, but backed out of the office, heading toward his own. And then the best course of action struck him, and he changed direction, walking toward the press secretary's area.

* * *

"CJ," Jeffrey called from the door, "we should coordinate on press message so that any kind of transition between our two offices will run as smoothly as possible."

"Transition? What the hell are you talking about, Jeffrey? Did we have an election and they forgot to tell me?"

"I'm talking about Vice President Hoynes, CJ. We don't know the status of the president, and let's face it, we have to assure the American people that this country is in compassionate, but capable hands while the fate of Bartlet and his party is determined."

"That's _President_ Bartlet, you weasel-headed snake, and for your information, until there is some kind of confirmation regarding the president's...condition, any move on Vice President Hoynes toward the Oval will be considered a coup d'etat on the part of all the Marines stationed around this building. Now get out of my office!" Standing more than a foot taller than Jeffrey, CJ backed him right out of her space, slamming the door on him. She picked up her phone and dialed a number. "Josh? Please tell me something good..."

"Sorry, CJ," Lyman answered through the phone, "nothing yet."

"Okay, well, call if you hear anything. I mean, _anything_, Josh."

"Yeah."

CJ hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and headed toward the press room.

* * *

Butterfield walked back toward the president, and Bartlet noticed his uneven gait. "Ron? Are you limping?"

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. President, I just twisted my ankle. It's minor, sir."

Bartlet observed the man whom he knew would give his life for him. "Why is it I don't believe that, Ron?"

"President Bartlet--"

Bartlet stopped him with a raised hand. "Save it, I already know this song and dance."

"Yes sir." Ron knelt next to where Bartlet was seated, cradling McGarry's head in his lap. "The best area that I can see to try and dig a way out is over on the far wall." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the second flashlight, handing it to Bartlet. "If you need it, use it, but other than that, Mr. President, please conserve the battery; it's the only backup we have." Jed nodded, and Butterfield glanced down at the pallid face of Leo. "Mr. McGarry looks like he might be going into shock." Ron reached for a large piece of concrete laying nearby, and straining slightly, dragged it over and put it under Leo's feet. The agent then pulled off his jacket and draped it over Leo, saying, "He needs to stay warm."

"I don't suppose you have any water with you?"

Ron moved his hand in the direction of the small bottle hidden in an inside pocket that he always carried in case of an emergency. "Are you thirsty, Mr. President?"

"Not for me, Ron. For Leo."

But the water could only be for the president, and Butterfield's hand imperceptibly slipped back down. "I'll try and have you out of here quickly, Mr. President."

Jed glanced down at Leo and he felt his throat constrict with fear for his dearest friend. "Yeah," was all he said.

* * *

"Good evening." CJ tried to quiet the tremor in her voice, but found she couldn't completely. "I will make a brief statement, although I will not take questions at this time." She glanced down at her notes, stalling slightly while she tried to compose herself. "At approximately 10:34 PM tonight, a bomb exploded in the basement of the Hyatt Regency hotel, following the president's appearance at a fundraiser for cancer research. The north western corner of the building collapsed when the supports were blown out from under the weight of the 20 floors above it. The hotel has been evacuated and search teams are looking for survivors. We do not yet have an injury count. At this time, President Bartlet, Chief of Staff Leo McGarry, Director of Communications Toby Ziegler, and Deputy Director of Communications Sam Seaborne, along with the president's secret service team are missing. I'll be back in two hours with an update."

CJ quickly left the room, amid a chorus of voices calling her name. She handed her notes to Carol as soon as she cleared the door. "Josh didn't call?"

"Not yet." Carol hesitated and then said, "CJ?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's..."

"What?"

"Who's...well, if we don't know where the president is, who's running the country?"

CJ stopped walking and looked down for a moment before turning back and facing her assistant, hating herself for the answer she had to give and the reality she had to face. "The vice president."

"But doesn't the president have to submit a signed letter to Congress?"

"Technically a letter to the senate president pro-tem and to the speaker..." CJ swallowed. "A letter can also be submitted by the vice president and a majority of the principal officers of the executive departments declaring the president unable to discharge the duties of his office."

"Principal officers? You mean the cabinet?"

"Yeah."

"This is under the 25th?"

"Yeah."

"It sounds like a legal coup d'etat."

"Yeah, doesn't it?"

CJ turned away and walked quickly into her office, preparing to call both Hoynes and Josh. It was only a matter of time before someone like Danny Concannon would ask her who was in charge, and as much as she hated the whole thing, there was little choice. But the idea of starting the ball rolling to remove President Bartlet from power turned her stomach.

* * *

"Sam, don't move around too much, your leg is busted up pretty bad."

"Ya think?" Seaborne asked, groaning.

"Yeah," Toby said softly, "I think so." He looked up at the approaching secret service agent. "Well?"

Sullivan knelt down next to the two senior staffers. "Agent Johnson didn't make it, and there's no sign of President Bartlet, Agents Butterfield or Ortega, or Mr. McGarry. My com unit and cell phone are both out and this section of the corridor is sealed off."

Toby stared at the large-framed man before saying, "Do you have any, you know, good news?"

"We're not dead?"

"Yeah, okay." Toby ran his right hand over his head. "Any shot at digging our way out?"

Sullivan shrugged. "Maybe." He looked down at Toby's bloodied left hand. "But I don't think you're going to be able to help too much in that endeavor, Mr. Ziegler."

Toby glanced down at his smashed hand. "No, probably not."

"My hands are fine," Sam offered.

"Yeah," Toby said, "but your leg is busted in at least three places." Ziegler looked at the deep cut on Sullivan's forehead. "And your head is bleeding, you know."

Sullivan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away the blood. "It's nothing, sir, just a small cut."

"It doesn't look like a nothing," Toby countered.

"I'm going to start pulling back as much concrete rubble as I can, you fellas just stay put for awhile, okay?"

"Sure," Toby said, "I always wanted to take a vacation like this..."

"Agent Sullivan?" The tall man looked back at Sam. "Do you think maybe--"

"--I honestly can't say, Mr. Seaborne, I'm sorry." He looked at the profound sadness in Sam's eyes and added, "It's possible that they're all still alive. After all, the three of us are still here."

"But Agent Johnson isn't," Toby said quietly.

Sam swallowed hard and Sullivan looked away, nodding. "I'm going to try and get us out of here," the agent said.

Toby watched Sullivan move away to an area that looked like it had loose concrete. "How the hell could this have happened?"

"I don't know, Toby, but I think I'm going to start requesting a combat stipend from the DOD."

"Yeah," Ziegler sighed.

* * *

Josh hung up his cell phone and slid it into his pocket. Deep down, he knew CJ was right, but the idea of anyone replacing President Bartlet was so awful to him, he felt as if he couldn't breathe. If only he could talk to Leo; the chief of staff would know exactly how to proceed. His eyes misted over as the thought that he might never be able to talk to Leo again floated into his mind. The president, Sam, Toby... What if none of them had survived? Josh fought against the rebellion of his stomach, but lost the battle as he leaned over into a large shrub, losing the remnants of his dinner. He needed to pull himself together. He had to go back to the White House and with CJ, meet with Hoynes and the cabinet. He needed to do what Leo and the president would expect of him. He needed to be strong.

But what if this was like so many other times in his life, and people he loved died?

"Please make it okay," he quietly whispered. Wiping his wet eyes, he headed back to the White House.

* * *

Mrs. Landingham watched the young body man of the president fidgeting at his desk. "Charlie, why don't you go to the mess and get yourself something to eat?"

He looked over at her. "I'm not hungry, Mrs. Landingham."

"No, I suppose you're not."

"I should have been there. I always go. But the president told me to stay here and study for my history exam." Charlie looked down at his hands. "I should have been there."

"And what would that accomplish, Charlie, your being there?"

He glared at her slightly. "It's where I should have been, Mrs. Landingham. I should have been there with the president."

"So that we could wonder if you were dead or alive too?"

His eyes darted to hers. "No, ma'am." He licked his lips. "But what if I could have done something to help? What if my being there might have--"

"--Charlie, you weren't there because you weren't supposed to be."

"Ma'am?"

"Do you believe in God, Charlie?"

"Yes ma'am. My mother took me to church with her every Sunday, and now I usually go with the president."

"If you believe, Charlie, then you understand that things happen for a reason, even if we cannot fathom the meaning of it. You are usually with the president, but tonight he asked you to stay here and study for your test. You weren't _supposed_ to be there, Charlie."

"What about your boys, Mrs. Landingham?"

"What about them?"

"Do you believe that they were where they were supposed to be when they... well when--"

"--I have to believe that, Charlie. I don't understand why it had to be my boys, but I have to believe that there was some divine reason and that it wasn't just malice on the part of the Almighty." She studied his eyes for a moment. "And no matter what happens now, we will have to accept God's will as it comes to us, even if we don't ever understand it."

"When my mother was killed, I was pretty angry at God, for a long time. But after I'd worked here for awhile, I decided to give God a second chance. Then came Roslyn, and I didn't understand how something like that could happen because Zoey and I wanted to date each other, and I felt angry for a long time. It was the president who talked me into giving faith a third chance." He stared at her before adding, "But if anything happens to him, Mrs. Landingham, I'm through with God."

"Three strikes He's out, huh?"

"That's right."

Charlie stood then and walked out of the room, leaving Mrs. Landingham alone with only her deep worry for the man who'd become the commander-in-chief. And she wondered if _her_ faith could withstand losing another son. She honestly didn't know.

* * *

Leo moaned in pain, and Bartlet switched the flashlight on, setting it nearby to shine on his friend. He took Leo's hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Hey, I'm here." McGarry's eyes slowly opened, the distress in them apparent. Jed brushed his free hand over Leo's forehead. "How ya doin'?"

"Okay," Leo responded weakly.

"Yeah. I'll just bet you are." McGarry moaned deeply, grabbing his stomach, and Jed swallowed down his emotion, hard. "What the hell were you thinking shielding me like that? It's the job of the secret service," he admonished, trying to cover his fear.

Although it had been a rhetorical question, McGarry answered softly, "I was thinking that protecting the President of the United States was more important than protecting myself." Leo swallowed hard, trying to dissipate the dryness. "I was thinking it had to be me because I was walking closer to you than your agents." He licked his lips. "I was thinking," his voice lowered weakly, "that I needed to shield my best friend because I love him."

Jed could feel his own heart breaking, and he looked up at the ceiling, in a fruitless attempt to keep the tears filling his eyes from falling. He slammed them shut and pulled in a ragged breath before finally looking down once more, his sadness dripping down onto Leo's face.

"I can't do this without you, Leo. Don't you know that? I can't do this without you..."

Unable to bear the emotion of the moment, or the sadness in his best friend's eyes, McGarry whispered, "Turn off that flashlight, Mr. President, you might need the battery later."

"Yeah," Bartlet said as he snapped off the light, returning it to his pocket. In the darkness he continued to stroke McGarry's forehead softly. "You've got to hold on, Leo. Ron will find a way out. You have to hold on for me, Leo."

And McGarry knew that he would hold on because Jed Bartlet asked him to; but he knew it would only be until Ron Butterfield could get the President of the United States out of the jam he was in. The pain in his belly pressed in on him, and he had to fight to stifle a moan. He had to hold on until the president made it out. Only until then...


	3. Chapter 3

The president _pro-tem_ shook Hoynes' hand. "Thank you for your service, Mr. President."

"I wish it were under other circumstances."

The speaker shook John's hand. "We all do, Mr. President."

The room cleared out fairly quickly, leaving CJ, Josh, Jeffrey and the acting president. Hoynes turned to CJ. "What's first?"

"Press conference announcing the use of the 25th Amendment."

Hoynes nodded. "And then?"

"We'll sit with Mrs. Landingham and review the schedule and make any adjustments that we think are necessary."

"That should take us to about seven am," Josh offered.

"Yeah," Hoynes agreed.

"I'd like to prepare the president's statement for the press announcement," Jeffrey said.

"_Acting_-president, Jeffrey," Hoynes corrected. "Any problem with that, CJ?"

"No sir." CJ headed toward the door, holding it open. "Shall we, Mr. President?"

Hoynes looked at her slightly oddly, but all he said was, "Yeah."

As they exited the room, John Hoynes shook his head: he walked in a vice president, and walked out the president. There was something heady about it, even under such dire circumstances...

* * *

Mrs. Landingham entered the White House mess, and found them right where Charlie said they'd be.

Donna spotted her first, and her voice was hopeful, "Is there news, Mrs. Landingham?"

Delores shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Donna."

"Oh," the blonde said quietly, deflated.

Delores patted the woman's shoulder and smiled at the rest of the assistants. "Mind if I join you for awhile?"

"Come on..." Bonnie said smiling slightly.

Ginger pulled a chair over for the older woman. "Want a beer?"

"No thanks, dear. It wouldn't look right, a senior citizen like myself sipping a beer in the White House mess. I think I'll just sit here awhile." She glanced at Margaret, who had said nothing. "You've been with Mr. McGarry for a long time..."

"Yes ma'am. I started working for him when he was the secretary of labor." She glanced into the soft eyes of Delores Landingham. "But you've known them both a lot longer than that..."

The older woman smiled then, as if seeing something no one else could. "They were handsome devils when they were young you know, and hellions, both of them." Delores leaned in, as if about to share a national security secret. "The day Jed left for London, Leo stuffed a chunk of the smelliest cheese ever made into his luggage. By the the time Jed reached his dorm room, everything he owned smelled like that piece of cheese. He was at the London School of Economics for five years and never lived it down."

"It couldn't have ended there..." Donna said, smiling.

"The president is not the type of man to take a prank like that lying down, no. That piece of cheese turned up in Leo's locker at bootcamp, although I have no idea how the president got it there. After that, it made an appearance at Jed's graduation in London, taped to the bottom of his seat."

"The same piece of cheese?" Bonnie asked.

"I believe so, dear, yes."

"Isn't it all moldy, and you know, gross?" Donna asked.

Mrs. Landingham smiled. "I'm certain it must be, which makes it all the better for those two. That piece of cheese has been passed back and forth over the years I don't know how many times."

"They must have had a lot of laughs about it..." Ginger commented.

"Oh, no, not at all." Seeing the confused looks, Mrs. Landingham continued, "Neither of them has ever mentioned it to other as far as I know. They just keep passing it back and forth at the most inopportune moments. It was at the president's wedding, Mr. McGarry's honeymoon, the inauguration podium when Jed became governor, Leo's desk drawer when he was labor secretary, and I believe it was sitting on a velvet pillow on the President's bed in the residence the day he and Mrs. Bartlet moved into the White House."

"Then that means Mr. McGarry's gonna get it again next!" Bonnie smiled. "Margaret, you'd better watch out, it could wind up in your office!"

Laughter broke out at the table, and after a moment, Margaret stood, anger clouding her eyes and tears streaming down her face. "This isn't funny. Leo and the president might be... we don't know if they're... "

Unable to complete the sentence, or face the other assistants, Margaret ran from the room in tears. Donna started up, but Delores stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let her go, dear. I'll take care of her."

"I didn't mean to upset her," Bonnie said sadly.

"She's pretty attached to Leo," Ginger commented.

"I've never seen anyone who really knew him who wasn't," Mrs. Landingham commented.

Donna, Bonnie and Ginger watched the older woman leave the room, heading in the direction they had seen Margaret run.

* * *

Delores stood quietly at the threshhold of Margaret's office, listening to the woman's soft cries floating out toward her. After a long moment, she walked toward Leo's door, picked up the tissue box from the top of Margaret's desk, and entered Leo's office. There was no light within, except for what little emanated from the moonlight streaming int he window. Mrs. Landingham let her eyes adjust to the low light and decided that the sniffling was coming from Leo's desk chair, which was facing away from the door.

Delores stepped forward cautiously, so as not to startle the younger woman. "Margaret? Would you like a tissue, dear?" She held the box in the direction of the assistant curled up in Leo's chair. From the diffused light of the window, Mrs. Landingham saw Margaret shake her head no. Delores set the box on the desk, and then leaned against the windowsill, facing the distraught woman. "It's normal to be frightened at a time like this..."

"You don't seem frightened."

Delores couldn't tell if there had been intentional malice behind the statement or just incomprehension. "No, I suppose from the outside, I don't seem frightened." She looked up to find Margaret's eyes staring intently at her. "But on the inside, Margaret, I'm terrified. I've known Jed Bartlet and Leo McGarry most of their lives, and I love the two of them as if they were--" She stopped herself, glancing away, then after a moment she said, "God never takes something without giving something. The hard part is remembering all of the joy you've been given in the face of grief."

Tears continued to roll silently down Margaret's cheeks. "Leo doesn't know," she whispered.

"He doesn't know what?"

"I've never told him how much he means to me, Mrs. Landingham. Half the time I'm downright surly with him, and he probably thinks I don't even respect him."

Delores pulled a tissue from the box and gently dabbed the tears from Margaret's face. "Is that what you really believe?" The redhead shrugged and Mrs. Landingham smiled. "It's nonsense." Margaret's eyes darted to meet the smiling ones behind the large-framed glasses. "It is. Trust me. You've seen the way the president and I communicate. Do you think that I don't respect him or that he doesn't respect me?"

"No ma'am, I don't think that."

"And well you shouldn't because we have a great deal of respect for one another. And friendship. And love." She brushed the errant strands of hair from Margaret's face. "Believe me, dear, Leo knows how you feel about him, and if you question for one moment that he doesn't value and respect you, then you haven't been paying attention. I know Leo McGarry almost as well as I know Jed Bartlet, and Margaret, dear, you're very special to Leo. You're like another daughter to him. He depends on you for everything, trusts you with anything, and he'd be completely lost without you."

"He's lost now, and there's nothing I can do to help him."

Mrs. Landingham grasped Margaret's hands with her own. "Just pray that those two boys are together. As long as they are, nothing will happen to either one of them."

"How can you be sure?"

Delores looked far away, into another time, another place, and another set of brothers and said, "Because I know my boys..."

* * *

Bartlet tried unsuccessfully to hold Leo still as he writhed in pain. "Ron!" Bartlet yelled for his secret service agent. "Ron!"

Within seconds, Butterfield knelt next to the president, handing him his illuminated flashlight. "Mr. McGarry? Take it easy, sir." Ron steadied the chief of staff, preventing him from thrashing around, but his distress was taking an obvious and heavy toll on the president, who flinched with each cry of Leo's pain.

McGarry clutched at his abdomen, his teeth gritted together. "Jed..."

Bartlet put a soft hand on McGarry's shoulder. "Here, Leo."

"Maybe we can move him to a less stressful position," Ron suggested.

The agent careful gripped Leo's much smaller frame and attempted to readjust him on his side, but McGarry screamed in agony.

Bartlet grabbed Ron's shirt, tightly. "Ron, don't." The president held out his arms. "Give him to me."

Butterfield gently laid McGarry into Bartlet's arms and Jed allowed Leo to lean into him, cradling him softly. After a few minutes, Leo's ragged breathing calmed, and he seemed to be in less pain leaning heavily against the president.

Bartlet looked up into the concerned eyes of Butterfield. unsuccessfully trying to keep his eyes from misting over. "Do you have a best friend, Ron?"

Butterfield nodded. "I did, Mr. President."

"Did?"

"Agent Ortega, sir. We've been close since West Point Academy."

"Oh Jesus, Ron, why didn't you say anything?"

Butterfield stared into the saddened hazel eyes. "Because you are my main priority right now, Mr. President, and telling you about it won't help you." He looked down for a moment, steadying himself. "And because Tommy would want it this way." Ron brushed a gentle hand over the back of Leo's head, and squeezed Bartlet's forearm slightly. "Both of our best friends made a sacrifice today, Mr. President. Don't let that be in vain..."

Butterfield stood and walked back to the area he was clearing and once again began working. With tears streaming down his face, Jed gently pressed Leo closer to him, whispering, "I'm sorry, Leo. I'm so sorry..."


	4. Chapter 4

Agent Sullivan tied the last piece of his torn jacket lining into place, securing the makeshift pipe splint to Seaborne's leg. Sam winced in pain, and Toby, not knowing what else to do, gently pat his deputy's shoulder.

"That should keep the leg immobile, Mr. Seaborne," Sullivan said, "and it will help with the pain." Sam nodded, exhaling a large breath. Sullivan turned toward Toby. "Let me see that hand, Mr. Ziegler." Toby gingerly extended his left hand, and Sullivan wrapped it with strips of his suit jacket, causing Toby to grunt. "Sorry sir, but you've broken some bones there. We need to wrap it."

"I understand," Toby said through gritted teeth.

When he was finished, Sullivan stood, once again picking up his flashlight. "I'm going to start removing the loose concrete and see if I can't dig us a tunnel out of here."

Toby nodded, and Sullivan walked away, taking the light with him.

"What happens when the battery runs out?" Sam asked.

"I'm trying not to think too hard about that," Toby replied softly.

Sam listened to Ziegler's heavy breathing in the dark for a few minutes, then said, "You're really worried about President Bartlet, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"It's possible that he survived, you know," Seaborne offered.

"Yes." Toby swallowed hard, clearing his throat. "But in what condition?"

"Leo's with him."

"Yeah? Leo's not omnipotent..."

"He'll take care of the president. You know he will."

"And if Leo's not there?"

Sam didn't like the sound of it. "He was walking right next to him when it happened. We both know he'd walk through fire for the president."

"Yes."

"He won't let anything happen to him, Toby. If Leo's still breathing, then President Bartlet is okay."

"Ah, and now we've hit on it: we don't know if Leo's still breathing..."

"The glass is always half empty with you, isn't it?"

Toby looked toward Sam in the dark, even though he couldn't really see him. "Why yes, Pollyanna, it is because I live in the real world."

"I always think of it as half full."

"No kidding."

Sam frowned. "Well, yeah..."

"Don't you think I know that, Sam?" Toby raised his voice. "I've worked with you for three years in the White House. Don't you think I know that?" Ziegler let out a long sigh of air. "It's exactly why it works."

"Why what works?"

"Writing together. As human beings, we are polar opposites. And it's why it works. Where I see dark, you see light. Where I see disaster, you see possibility. Opposite sides of the same coin, Sam. It's why it works."

"I guess I never thought of it that way," Sam admitted. "Think Leo knew that when he paired us off?"

Toby smiled. "Yeah. I'd say that's one of the safest bets in DC."

"It does work pretty well, doesn't it..."

"Yeah." Toby pursed his lips. "Although one of these days, Sam, when you come in at 6am whistling, loudly, I swear to God I'm gonna stuff a leftover piece of two-day-old hot dog in your mouth."

Seaborne made a face although Ziegler couldn't see it. "Why would you do that?"

"You're too happy at that hour of the morning."

"Why wouldn't I be happy at that hour compared to any other hour of the day?"

"It's not natural."

"Of course it is, Toby."

"No Sam, it's not. It's not natural for anyone to be happy before noon. Especially a writer. It's unnatural, and I swear to God I'm gonna stuff your mouth with a leftover piece of two-day-old hot dog."

"I don't like hot dogs."

"I know this."

"Happy at 6am is just not natural for _you_."

"No, it's not. And it shouldn't be for _anyone_."

"Toby, you aren't any happier at 6pm than you are at 6am."

"Happy is not a natural state for me. I don't like it."

"What's not to like?"

"It's peppy. It's peppy, and light, and completely unrealistic," Ziegler's voice began to rise in pitch, "And it's tantamount to wearing rose-colored glasses to view a dreary world, and it's just not natural!"

Sam started laughing.

"What the hell's so funny?"

"I don't know, Toby," Sam said, "it's just that my leg's broken, your hand is smashed, we're trapped in the corridor of a hotel basement, we don't know if the president and Leo are even alive or if we'll get out of here in one piece, and you're sitting there telling me that happiness is a boondoggle."

"_Boondoggle_?" Toby sneered, "Did you really just say _boondoggle_ to me?"

"Yeah, I did."

"No one says that."

"I do. I just did."

"Oh God," Toby muttered, "I can't take it." His voice rose in pitch again, "I can't take being locked up in here with you. Agent Sullivan! Agent Sullivan," Toby yelled, "you've got to get me outta here! I'm locked up in an enclosed space with no way out and Mr. Rogers is sitting next to me!"

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Toby."

"Shut up, Mr. Rogers."

"Won't you please be my neighbor?"

"Won't you please shut up?"

"I don't wear cardigans," Sam said quietly.

Toby groaned and Sam smiled to himself in the dark.

* * *

"I think we should cancel anything that's nonessential on the presidential schedule for today," CJ said.

"I agree," Hoynes said.

Mrs. Landingham jotted down the contacts who needed to be called. "I'll take care of it."

"I don't see why we should cancel the speech at the 100 Black Men luncheon," Jeffrey stated. "It's an important speech on affirmative action, and there's no reason that--"

"--You don't think that President Bartlet missing is a good enough reason?" Josh growled.

"I'm sure that's not what--"

Lyman cut Hoynes off. "--All due respect, Mr. President, but I think it's exactly what he meant." Josh and Jeffrey held each other's eyes. "Am I wrong, Jeffrey?"

The vice president's chief of staff smiled. "No, you're not. We have to show that the country will continue on in capable hands. Anything less than that, and we've failed miserably."

Sensing the building emotion in the room, CJ broke in. "Okay, look, you're both right. Jeffrey's point is well taken in that we have to show that the country isn't going to crumble; but Josh is also correct in that we have to find ways to show strength without losing sight of the fact that a terrible thing has happened. A thing that has most of us tied up in knots today. Dignity and respect are two words that come to mind in regard to handling this situation."

Hoynes stood and began pacing. "I'm with CJ on this. Striking a balance is the only way we can move forward." He looked at the five people in his office and said, "I'm open to suggestions."

For a long and awkward moment, no one spoke. Then finally, Charlie said, "President Bartlet would want us to support Acting President Hoynes in the same way that we've always done for him. If he were here right now, he'd say, 'it's business as usual, nothing changes.'" Charlie looked at the eagle on the carpet of the Oval Office and swallowed hard. "I think that's what he'd say if he were here."

CJ and Josh glanced at each other, then Mrs. Landingham. Jeffrey looked away, and Hoynes smiled. "Do you think that would be before or after he told us to suck it up, Charlie?"

Young turned to Hoynes and smiled. "I think it would be before, sir. He'd end with 'suck it up.' And then he'd tell us to keep as many of his appointments for him that we can."

Hoynes nodded and turned to CJ. "Speaking of appointments, I think we've kept the press long enough, don't you?"

"Yes sir."

They all stood as CJ and Hoynes left the room.

"This isn't over, Jeffrey," Josh said as he walked out.

Jeffrey smiled. "No kidding."

Charlie turned to Mrs. Landingham. "Do you get the feeling that those two should maybe take it outside or something?"

"Not if they want a cookie, they won't."

* * *

Carol opened the door to the press room, and the acting president followed by the press secretary entered briskly. CJ took the podium first.

"Good morning. I'm going to read a statement, and then Q&A will follow. At approximately 3:15 this morning, the 25th Amendment was invoked, and Vice President John Hoynes became Acting-President Hoynes--"

The room erupted with rapid fire questions, and there was no question that life as they'd known it in the West Wing was over...

* * *

Sullivan thought he heard a thud. He moved closer to the hole he was trying to clear in the debris and listened intently. He definitely heard sounds.

"Hey!" Sullivan yelled into the concrete. "Hey, can you hear me?" The sounds ceased for a moment, and Sullivan yelled again, "In here! We're here!" Then he heard three distinct taps on metal, and he smiled, quickly wrapping the butt of his gun on a nearby pipe three times in answer. One more tap came through and he turned toward Toby and Sam. "Hey guys, they found us! The calvary's here!"

* * *

Josh was standing in the back of the press room when his phone rang. "Hello?" He moved away from the room and into the connecting hallway. "Yes... yes... YES!" He could feel his eyes welling up with tears, but he didn't care. "Thank you, Agent Parnum, thanks for calling, and yes, as soon as you know, call me!" Josh hung up his phone and walked quickly to the bullpen outside his office. "Donna! Donna!" He scribbled a note on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Take this into the press room and hand it to CJ."

"Josh?"

"The FBI and emergency crews have made contact with somebody who's trapped behind a fallen wall in the basement, Donna!"

"Is it the president?"

"Don't know. At this point, it's just a bunch of taps on metal pipes on opposite sides of the barricade," Josh said truthfully, "But _somebody's_ alive down there! Maybe they're _all_ alive, Donna!"

Afraid to let her own spirits rise too high, Moss swallowed hard and said, "I'll take this in..."

Donna walked quickly to the press room, and handed CJ the note. Cregg quietly read it, smiled at Josh's assistant and then said into the microphone, "About twenty minutes ago, emergency crews made contact with someone who is trapped behind a wall in the hotel basement. At this point, the Secret Service does not know how many people may be there nor the identity of any," she couldn't keep the emotion from her voice, "but somebody's alive down there!"

"CJ! CJ!" The reporters yelled.

"Sally..."

"How do they know someone's alive?"

"The emergency crews thought they heard a muffled voice. Secret Service agents then tapped on a metal pipe, and the wrapping was answered in kind from behind the fallen debris."

"CJ! CJ!"

"Mark..."

"How many are alive?"

"Were you not in the room a moment ago? We don't have that information..."

"CJ! CJ!"

"Danny..."

"Did the Secret Service use a signal that only another agent would recognize?"

CJ stared at him. "I...well, I don't know, Danny. I doubt that the agents will tell us if they did do that given their nondisclosure policy regarding procedure."

"CJ! CJ!"

"Julie..."

"Is it possible that the Secret Service has a designated code for this kind of thing?"

"Yeah, cause when I said I didn't know and that I doubted the Secret Service would tell us if they did, I meant that I was actually omnipotent and just not willing to share."

"CJ! CJ!"

"Hang on folks," Cregg said, "I'm going to need more information in order to answer any follow-ups. Let's hold off and come back in half an hour. Thank you."

CJ abruptly ended the session and quickly exited the room. She wasted no time heading for Josh.

"Josh!" CJ waved his note at him. "What else do you know about this?"

"Nothing yet, but Agent Parnum--"

"--Parnum? You mean like Barnum with a P?"

"Yeah--"

"--So this search is actually being led by a ringmaster, a trick elephant, and a bunch of deranged clowns?"

"Parnum's going to call me the minute they're through the debris." He looked at her hopefully. "It could be President Bartlet."

"Yeah," CJ said carefully. "It could also be one of the 56 other people unaccounted for at this time..."

Josh blew air out of his mouth in frustration. "It's something..."

"Yes." CJ looked deeply into his eyes. "I'm really scared for them, Josh."

He nodded. "Me too."

* * *

Abbey paced the length of the kitchen floor for what might have been the hundredth time.

"Mom," Ellie said, "why don't you come over here and sit down with us? Have a cup of coffee."

"If I have any more coffee, honey, I'll be able to light up Seattle intravenously."

Fear overtaking her, Zoey grabbed Elizabeth's hand tightly. Liz smiled at her. "It's going to be okay, Zo, you'll see."

Zoey nodded, but a fresh stream of tears poured down her cheeks. Ellie took Zoey's other hand.

"Dad's pretty tough, kid. He really is."

Seeing how much her daughters needed her, Abbey moved to the table and sat down. "Ellie's right, honey. Your father won't stop until he finds a way out of there and back here to his family. Nothing would keep him from coming back to his girls. _Nothing_..."

"But what if--"

"--_No_, Zoey," Abbey said strongly, "I don't want to hear any 'what if's' from you. Dad needs us to stay positive. He'll know if we haven't, and they'll be hell to pay when he comes home."

"Yeah," Zoey said tearfully.

Abbey brushed a soft hand down her youngest child's hair and kissed the top of her head as she stood. "I'm going to go lie down for awhile. If you need me, just come get me, okay?" Her three daughters nodded, and she smiled. "Ellie, you're in charge..."

The kids smiled at Abbey's use of one of Jed's sayings. But as soon as their mother cleared the room, Liz turned to Ellie.

"She's going in there to cry."

"Yeah," Ellie agreed.

"Shouldn't we go in after her?" Zoey asked.

"No," Liz answered. "Mom hates to cry in front of anyone but dad."

"She cried once in front of Uncle Leo," Zoey offered.

"I don't remember that..." Ellie said.

"It was a couple of years ago, when dad collapsed before the State of the Union."

"How do you know?" Ellie demanded.

"I walked in on them," Zoey said. "They were in Leo's office. I've never seen her cry like that. They didn't know I saw them though. I never asked mom about it."

"Uncle Leo's not here this time," Liz commented.

"That's why we should go in there," Zoey said.

"No, Zo," Ellie brushed her hair as she spoke, "If she wanted us to see her like that, she would have stayed here."

"Uncle Leo and dad are the only two people mom trusts enough to show vulnerability," Liz said.

Ellie swallowed hard. What if they lost _both_ of them? Her eyes filled with moisture, but she said nothing. Such a thought voiced would only scare Zoey and upset Liz. Ellie sighed. The middle child was always the odd man out and the one to carry the family burdens...

* * *

The pain had grown steadily worse over the past few hours, and no matter how much he wanted to hide it, Leo recognized that he was fighting a losing battle. The president had finally fallen off into an exhausted sleep some time ago, and the chief of staff didn't want to wake him; but the throbbing ache in his belly was turning into a stabbing torment that McGarry didn't think he could ride out. He slammed his eyes shut in an attempt to hold it off a little bit longer, but found he couldn't stifle the whimpers of distress, nor halt the tears sliding down his cheeks. McGarry finally gave into it.

"Jed," he cried softly, "Jed..."

Bartlet's eyes snapped open, and he reached for his best friend, gently pulling Leo's head into his chest. "If I could, I'd--"

"--I know," Leo whispered, not wanting to hear it voiced.

Jed rubbed a soothing hand across Leo's back. "You remember that summer at the lake when I almost drowned after I hit my head diving in?"

"Yeah," Leo breathed heavily, "I dragged...your puffy ass...to shore."

"You held onto me tightly to keep my head above water, and you never let go." Jed wrapped his arms protectively around his best friend. "I'm not gonna let go either, Leo," Bartlet whispered deeply, "I won't let you drown."

"Jed," McGarry gasped, "whatever... happens isn't...your fault. Tell me you understand that..."

Bartlet leaned his chin gently on top of Leo's head, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. "I won't let go," he breathed softly. Exhaustion and pain pulled at Leo until his eyes fluttered closed, his cheek resting heavily against Bartlet's chest. Jed lovingly stroked the back of McGarry's head. "I won't let go."

Several feet away, still clearing concrete, Ron felt it. "Oh sweet Jesus..."

As the building began to sway, its foundations shifting and letting go, Butterfield dove for Bartlet and McGarry, covering their bodies with his own...

* * *

The rumbling began and the floor shook. And the call came through every com unit in the building.

"All personnel clear the area immediately! Clear the area, cut back to the line! Repeat, pull back to the line!"

* * *

FBI, firefighters, emergency workers and EMTs ran as quickly as they could for the nearest exit as the hotel began to rock and shake. And on the outside, Agent Parnum and the hundreds of onlookers could only watch as the Hyatt Regency's supports swayed and girders groaned, knowing that the President of the United States was somewhere inside...

* * *

CJ stared at the tv monitor in the bullpen for a full second before yelling, "Josh! Josh!"

Lyman ran toward her and gaped in disbelief at the screen. "Oh God, no, please don't."

But the images on CNN clearly showed the hotel starting to crumble before their eyes...


	5. Chapter 5

The dust rising around them made him cough heavily. Waving a hand near his face to try and clear some breathing room, Sullivan pushed gently away from the men he had covered with his body, and realized he couldn't move his legs. Pulling the flashlight from his pocket, he snapped it on and pointed it toward his feet; his breath caught as he assessed the steal girders leaning across his ankles, and the pool of blood forming beneath.

Sputtering dust and debris, Toby shook his head. "Agent Sullivan?"

Sullivan turned to look the man in the eyes and was not surprised to read the barely contained fear. "Are you all right, Mr. Ziegler?"

"Yeah," Toby said softly. He stared into Sullivan's eyes. "You?"

"I've had better days than this, sir," the agent responded.

Toby gently shook Seaborne's shoulder. "Sam? Hey, Sam..."

"What?" Sam asked as he came around.

"You okay?"

"Aside from a broken leg, yeah," Seaborne said, coughing. "Why is it so dusty in here?"

"They forgot to install the air filter in the new ventilation system," Ziegler quipped. He looked again at the secret service agent. "Sullivan?"

"I can't move, Mr. Ziegler. My legs are trapped by some girders."

Toby sighed, extracting himself gently from Sam's grasp, and taking the light from Sullivan. He tried to move the girders trapping the agent, but to no avail. He sighed and stood up straight. "Okay, let's see here..."

"Mr. Ziegler--"

"--Sullivan, I'm the only one with legs that, you know, work."

Sullivan nodded reluctantly. "Be careful wandering out into the debris; everything has shifted, and God only knows how much of the building is still standing, and for how long."

"All the more reason I should get moving," Toby countered.

Without another word, Ziegler carefully made his way toward the wall where the crews were working only a short time before and shining the light across it, felt his adrenaline kick into a higher gear when his eyes landed on a section of wall that had crumbled, leaving a small tunnel to the other side. He quickly made his way back to Sullivan and Seaborne.

"There's a hole large enough to crawl through," Ziegler said less than enthusiastically.

Sam looked up at Toby. "I doubt neither Agent Sullivan nor I can do that about now, Toby."

Ziegler looked expectantly at Sullivan who smiled faintly. "It's up to you, Mr. Ziegler."

Toby stared at him. "To crawl through the hole?"

"Unless you can think of another way out..."

Toby's dark eyes met Sam's blue ones. "Toby..."

"I..."

"Toby," Sam swallowed dryly, "there's no telling how long the building will hold in its current state. If you don't do it..."

"Yeah, Sam," Toby growled, "I think I've got the picture." He could feel the sweat trickling down his back just thinking about it.

Sullivan's brow furled, confused. "What the hell? Old football injury preventing you from crawling out of here?"

Toby cleared his throat nervously as he shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Sam finally answered for him, "He's claustrophobic."

Sullivan stared at Seaborne. "You're kidding, right?" Sam didn't answer, and Sullivan raised his voice, "You're kidding, right?"

"He's not," Toby said quietly.

"Well all due respect, Mr. Ziegler," Sullivan said steely, "but you're just going to have to suck it up."

"Ya think?" Toby yelled back at him.

"Toby," Sam said gently, "just take it slowly, take calm breaths and you'll be okay."

"Okay?" Toby yelled. "OKAY?" He screamed. "It's a tiny little space big enough for maybe a squirrel to get through. You think I'll be OKAY in there? Without enough air? Pitch black, with nowhere to go if--"

"Toby!" Sam yelled. And after a moment, Ziegler made eye contact and Seaborne smiled gently. "You can do this. We need you to do this."

"I know," Ziegler said softly.

"They'll be pie..." Sam offered hopefully.

"What kind?"

"Cherry."

"Lattice across the top?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay."

And growling under his breath, Toby Ziegler made his way back over to the hole in the wall, and getting on his hands and knees, entered the small tunnel, praying to God that he wouldn't have a panic attack somewhere in the middle...

* * *

"Get Parnum on his cell," Josh yelled to Donna, "NOW!"

CJ stared at the ruins of the hotel on the television. "Oh God, Josh, oh God..."

"Donna?" She handed Lyman the phone and he said, "Agent Parnum, please tell me they're not all dead..."

Parnum's voice was hoarse from dust and debris, "Right now, Mr. Lyman, I don't know a damned thing. Not all of the work crews made it out before the collapse, I have no idea how many more may be," his voice broke slightly, "dead."

"What are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying I don't know. There could be pockets of the building that have air and some space, but I just..." He swallowed hard. "I just don't know what to tell you."

Josh's face turned ashen as he tried to take in a breath. "I want to speak with the DC fire chief. Or the FBI, or the CIA or the Director of Homeland Security, but damnit I want to know where we stand!"

"I'll track him down for you, but it might take a little while. It's chaotic here..."

Lyman looked toward the images on CNN. "Yeah, I can see that. Agent Parnum, I need to know if there's any chance that the president--" His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed. "That the president is still alive. I need to know that, and I need to know now."

"I understand. I'll contact you as soon as--"

"--You'll contact me every fifteen minutes unless you learn something sooner. Understand?"

"Yeah."

The line went dead and Josh gently set the handset into the cradle. He glanced up at the pictures on television and then at CJ. "I can't imagine anyone coming out of that in one piece."

CJ's eyes filled with tears, but before she could comment, Donna's voice broke in, "Josh, the vice-president wants to see you immediately."

Lyman sighed. "Yeah, I'll bet he does..."

* * *

Hoynes paced in front of the desk in the Oval Office. "So they can't tell us a damned thing right now?"

Josh shook his head. "No. It's too early for an assessment."

"Damn it. What the hell are we going to say to the American people?"

"CJ's working on a statement now," Josh offered.

"My office is already on that," Jeffrey cut in.

"Because you have so much experience with presidential press statements," Josh sneered.

"It's not rocket science, Josh," Jeffrey countered, "and your end of the building doesn't have it locked up."

"Back to your corners, boys," Hoynes warned. "This is definitely not the time for political posturing. I know this is a difficult situation, Josh, and I would appreciate it if CJ and her people could work with my people for now."

Josh nodded, acquiescing. "Is there anything else right now, sir?"

"No." Josh started for the door and Hoynes added, "Josh, I want to know the minute you hear something."

"You can count on it, sir."

Josh walked out of the Oval and Jeffrey turned to Hoynes. "If Bartlet's dead, Josh is gonna have to learn to wipe that smug look off his face--"

"--Jeffrey, damnit," Hoynes barked, "I don't need to have this be any more adversarial than it is by nature, do you get me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." John ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Get me whomever's in charge of the rescue effort, Jeffrey; and I mean whomever it is who is handling overall coordination. The top rung of the ladder."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"And Jeffrey?"

"Yes sir?"

"Don't refer to me as the president until we know one way or another about Jed Bartlet."

"But--"

"--Jeffrey, I'm not comfortable with it. Despite our differences in tactics, I consider Jed Bartlet a friend. Acting-president is fine in public for now, but in private...just don't."

"Yes sir."

Hoynes watched his aide exit the room, and he stared at the large wooden desk looming in front of him. He had yet to sit down behind it. His relationship with Jed Bartlet had been fiery since the beginning, but John Hoynes had never aspired to garnering the Oval Office in this manner. A good old fashioned fair fight for it was his style; inheriting it because of some madman's bomb just seemed candy-ass. And that thought made him smile, for he had picked up that expression from none other than the President of the United States...

* * *

The makeshift command center for the rescue operation - a diner down the street from the hotel - was buzzing with activity. Led by the Department of Homeland Security, members of the FBI, CIA, FEMA, local firefighters, police officers and EMT workers moved in and out of the building, in an effort to coordinate their movements. And the man charged with keeping track of all emergency task work stood in the center of the room, with phone lines, computers and people at his fingertips. He looked up as Secret Service Agent Parnum entered, making his way quickly toward the center.

"Director Marsh," Parnum said crisply.

"Agent Parnum..."

"Where do we stand, sir?"

Marsh looked over the top of his glasses at the man. "Up to our asses in the mud of hell, I would think, Agent Parnum."

"Yes sir," Parnum said softly.

"A division of marines have been deployed and are on their way here to speed up the recovery effort. But we're still waiting for the Naval architects to tell us whether or not the rest of that building's going to cave in on us and when they think that's likely to happen."

"There's still no news of--"

"--No," the director cut the man off. "I need you to coordinate the actual ground efforts of all the emergency crews. Let's make sure we do it quickly and we do it right. Not only am I responsible for the rescue of the leader of the free world, but his understudy's breathing down my neck." He stared at Parnum, hard. "A second chance at any kind of rescue effort is unlikely, and failure is not an option. Do I make myself clear, agent?"

"Yes, sir."

Parnum turned and walked back outside, heading toward the large CIA van with all the state of the art communications equipment, and reluctantly he pulled out his cellphone. He hated to update Lyman with nothing promising, but at this point, maybe no news was the best news of all...

* * *

Holding the flashlight between his teeth, Toby continued to limp forward on all fours, trying his best not to put any weight on his injured hand. The idea that the jagged walls of the crawlspace were closing in on him, and all the oxygen present in the chamber could not reach his lungs, were facts that he needed to ignore. He stopped for a moment and took the flashlight from his mouth, clutching it tightly in his right hand. He closed his eyes and tried to make himself breathe slower. But the walls were getting closer and there was no way out. Toby could feel it starting in the pit of his stomach. He could feel the panic rising. He had to find some way to stave it off. Sam and Agent Sullivan were counting on him. Hell, for all he knew, the President of the United States might be counting on him to get through the small tunnel and let the emergency crews know that there were still people alive in the rubble of the building.

There was no room for some stupid, childish phobia. There was no time for him to waste idly in search of his common sense and nerves. Yet here he was, on all fours, about to hyperventilate. God how could he be so weak that he would give in to this madness? His muscles began to shake and he couldn't keep the moisture from filling his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. He slammed his good hand against the hard concrete beneath him, stifling any sound that threatened to escape his lips. He fought the nausea tumbling in his stomach and a slight sob emitted from his mouth.

Damn him. Damn him all to hell.

It had started as an innocent enough childhood prank. David and his friends couldn't have known the lifelong fear and pain that they were about to instill into the little boy they locked inside the dark hallway closet of the abandoned house. They couldn't have known how much Tobias worshipped his older brother, nor how he looked forward to following them all over town on Saturdays after temple. That he had gone into the abandoned and supposedly "haunted" house at the edge of Flatbush with the older boys had simply been another Saturday adventure to Toby. He hadn't known that they were all tired of him as a tag-along, to the point of playing a cruel trick on him. From the moment that they slammed the door on him, locking it from the outside, he could feel the air disappearing. And the more that he banged on the wood, screaming for them to let him out, the less oxygen seemed to make it into his lungs. Pitch black as anything he had ever experienced, young Toby couldn't see the items in the closet with him; the ones that brushed up against him in the dark, causing him to jump and scream all the more. He pounded on the door for two hours until the boys came back to let him out, his hands bloodied from striking the heavy wood, his eyes swollen and red from his tears.

From that day forward, Toby Ziegler couldn't stand being confined in tight, dark places.

"Damn you, David," he screamed. "Damn you!"

And the Director of Communications for the President of the United States collapsed into a ball of shattered nerves and irrational fear, frozen by a thing he could neither understand nor name.

* * *

Butterfield stirred, feeling a tightness in his chest. He coughed trying to clear it and found that it hurt like hell. He gently pushed away from his protectee and reached for the flashlight he'd jammed in his pocket as he dove for President Bartlet and Leo McGarry. He extracted it, flicked it on and shone it on the two men below him. Both Bartlet and McGarry were unconscious. He gently shook the president's shoulder.

"Mr. President?" He called softly. "President Bartlet..."

Jed's eyes slowly opened and he squinted at the light flickering into his pupils. "Ron..."

"Are you all right, sir?" The agent asked, gently feeling the President's vital areas with his hands.

"Yeah, I think so. What the hell happened?"

"Building caved in, sir." Ron shone the light around the space, shaking off the debris that had struck his back. "Miraculously we're still here and we're in a pocket."

"Yes," Bartlet drawled sarcastically, "God watches out for children and fools, Ron, I thought you knew that already."

"Yes sir," he answered lightly. "How is Mr. McGarry?"

Jed glanced down at the unconscious form in his arms. "I don't think he was hit with anything, I sure wasn't." Then it dawned on him why nothing hit them. "Ron? Are you okay?"

"Yes sir," the agent lied. "Fine."

"Nothing hit you?"

"Nothing of any magnitude, Mr. President."

Bartlet didn't believe him, but pushing Butterfield at this moment would be fruitless. "Now what, Ron?"

"Now I assess our new situation, and you sit tight, Mr. President."

Butterfield slowly moved away, and the fact that he was in tremendous pain not lost on Bartlet, who shook his head trying to stave off his own emotional response to his agent's overwhelming sense of duty. Jed glanced down at the pale, still face of his best friend and he swallowed hard. As gently as he could, he adjusted Leo's body against him and McGarry groaned.

"Easy, Leo," he said softly, "it's okay."

"Mmmm..." Leo began to stir slightly. "It's so damned hot in here..."

Bartlet frowned and laid a soothing hand on Leo's forehead: it was burning up. "Damn..."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Leo," he said easily, "just close your eyes and rest."

"Thirsty..."

Bartlet looked in the direction of the flashlight and called out softly, "Ron?"

After a moment Butterfield appeared. "What do you need, Mr. President?"

Bartlet stared hard into the dark eyes of the man who would give his life for him without a moment's thought. "Leo needs water. He's burning up with fever..."

"Mr. President--"

"--Ron, I know you have some and I know you're reserving it for me, and I'm telling you - no, I'm ordering you to give it to Leo." Butterfield stoically stared at him, unmoving. "Did you hear me? Leo needs it."

"I heard you sir," Butterfield said coldly, "but I can't do it."

"Mr. President," Leo's scratchy voice croaked, "leave him alone..."

Bartlet ignored McGarry and glared at Butterfield. "What do you mean, _can't_?"

"I mean I can't, Mr. President."

"In case you missed my inauguration, Agent Butterfield, I'm the President of the United States, and I'm telling you to cough up the water. Now."

"I have no idea how long we're going to be trapped down here, sir; the water can only be for you, Mr. President."

"Ron, goddamnit, give me the friggin' bottle and do it now, or I swear to God I'll take it from you."

Butterfield's normally smooth expression bobbled slightly at the president's outburst, but his voice remained neutral. "Mr. President, secret service procedures are clear and unmovable on such issues. You are my primary responsibility. You are my protectee. My duty is very clear."

The mixture of anger, fear and pain in Bartlet's eyes made Ron's stomach turn. The president's voice shook with fear, "Ron, please...I'm begging you."

Butterfield's eyes slammed shut against the raw emotion on Bartlet's face. "Damn it," he muttered softly against his failure to stay uninvolved with the protectee. It was the first rule of an agent: don't become involved on an emotional level, or you will be unable to serve. And Ron Butterfield had failed miserably to remain uninvolved with Josiah Bartlet. He had worked on presidential details before and managed to not develop anything beyond a sense of duty toward the protectees. But this man... this man was special. He was honest and true in his desire to do right and in his commitment to the American people. Ron's admiration and respect for Bartlet was immense, and on some level he had fallen prey to thinking of Jed Bartlet as a friend, although he had no idea exactly when it had happened: but at this moment, he was certain that he had.

Ron understood all too well Bartlet's desire to save his best friend. He understood only to painfully the agony of failure in that regard. Shaking his head in shame, Butterfield opened his eyes, reached into his pocket and handed Bartlet the bottle of water.

"Thank you, Ron," Jed said quietly.

"Don't thank me, Mr. President. I am at this moment, derelict in my primary duty, and that's going to be one hell of an expensive bottle of fiji..."

Butterfield turned as Bartlet frowned, not understanding his agent's comment, but Ron was already looking for a way out, and Jed chose not to press him any further. He turned to McGarry and gently poured some water into his mouth. Leo swallowed hard, trying to take in more than he should.

"Don't drink it so fast, Leo."

Bartlet poured a little water over McGarry's forehead, wiping it over his face, in the hope of cooling him down slightly.

"Mmmmm..."

"That's it, relax and try and sleep."

Leo's eyes fluttered closed and Jed held him close. He glanced once more at Ron, and a gnawing sense of foreboding filled him.


	6. Chapter 6

Abbey threw some cold water on her face and patted it dry with a soft towel. She stared at her own image in the bathroom mirror and felt herself shudder: she had aged ten years in about as many hours. She set the towel down and leaned her hands on the counter for a moment. The building had collapsed. The goddamn building had come down and no one could tell her anything. There was no way to know if there were any survivors, she had been told. There could be pockets among the wreckage, the director had said, but there was no way to know. Marsh, that was the man's name. Jack Marsh, Director of Homeland Security. He didn't know a damned thing more than anybody else did. Hell, she could have been talking on the phone to her dry cleaner in Manchester and he'd have known as much. There was nothing more concrete than the conjecture from the anchors on CNN.

Pictures of Jed, Leo, Sam and Toby had appeared throughout the night on television, the story looping its way through the wee hours melting into daylight. While her heart ached for Sam and Toby, she couldn't even begin to express the devastation she harbored over Jed and Leo. Abbey didn't really remember her life without the two of them in it; and it had always been the _two_ of them. In the early years, they were inseparable; then Leo went off to fight a war, and she and Jed just naturally grew closer. By the time Leo had come home on a furlough, she and Jed had become lovers, relegating Leo to closest confidant. The look on his face that first night when he realized that she and Jed were a couple, made her wonder if some part of him resented it. But being Leo, he never expressed anything other than happiness for the two of them, and shortly thereafter, he met Jenny, and the three of them became four.

But as his divorce had proved, nothing could last forever.

Abbey pressed her eyes closed, once again trying to stave off the tears that threatened to come. But she couldn't keep the rain from falling, any more than she could prevent the sun from rising on a day that could turn as black as the deepest abyss. She wasn't sure she could survive the loss of Jed, for he had truly become her very heart and soul. Living without him would be a pointless excercise in pain and sadness. Yet, she had their girls, and _maybe_ she could survive for them; but to have both Jed and Leo ripped from her in the same moment? Insurmountable. She couldn't bear even the thought of it. For forty years she had loved them, counted on them and kept both of them close. One her lover and the other her closest, most trusted friend. The emptiness left where her heart once lived would be a void too great to leap across.

The soft knock on the bedroom door made her jump. "Yes?" She called unsteadily.

"Mom?"

It was Zoey.

"Mom, are you okay?"

Abbey once again wiped her face with the towel and responded, "Yeah, fine, come on in."

Zoey walked into the bedroom and stared at her mother's ragged appearance. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I didn't sleep much." She hugged her youngest child and kissed her head. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Zoey said softly.

"Are Liz and Ellie still asleep?"

"No, they're in the kitchen making breakfast. They sent me to get you."

"Okay. I'll be there in a minute."

Zoey watched her mother straighten her clothes slightly. "Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Do you think that Dad is--"

"--No. I think he's fine."

"But there's been no--"

"--Zoey. I'd know if your father wasn't here anymore. I'd know."

"And Uncle Leo?"

Abbey smiled slightly. "I'm pretty sure I'd know about him too."

"Are you just saying this to make me feel better?"

Abbey sighed heavily. "Not entirely, Zoey, no. On some level, I really believe it." She brushed some of her daughter's hair from her face. "Let's go get some coffee..."

* * *

Josh sipped at the coffee Donna had placed in front of him and wiped his face as he listened to the worthless excuse being offered to him through the speakerphone on his desk. 

"Agent Parnum," Lyman interrupted. "You've got marines...what the hell is taking so long?"

"As I explained before, Mr. Lyman, the debris is devastating, and if it's not removed carefully, it could cause a further collapse, so if there are any pockets with people..."

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Thanks. Call me in a half hour."

Josh stabbed the button on his phone with his finger and sighed heavily, looking at his assistant. "Every hour that passes lessens their chances. Don't these guys get it?"

Donna stared into his eyes. "They get it Josh, there's just nothing they can do about it."

"But it's been all night," he pointed to the light coming through the window behind him. "It's daytime now." She just stared at him and his voice grew soft, almost childlike in its hope, "They've got marines..."

"And they're doing everything humanly possible, Josh. _Humanly_ possible. I think a lot of this is in the hands of a higher power now."

Lyman swallowed hard. "I'm scared, Donna."

"I know, so am I."

"No," he whispered softly, "I'm scared for them. For Sam, Toby... for Leo...and for the president. What if they're alive and they're trapped? I can't--" His voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears. "I don't want them to have to go through that." He stared into her soft face. "I don't want them to die like that... _knowing_."

Donna held his gaze, but realized that there was nothing she could say to comfort him. She gently reached across the desk and took his hand, and holding it tightly, she nodded her silent understanding and support.

* * *

Toby made it to the end of the crawlspace only to discover a blocked exit, and after facing another meltdown of claustrophobia, he had slowly begun to dig away at the dirt and debris with his good hand. He had lost all sense of time in the dirt-filled cocoon, but he kept slowly digging into it, working on creating a way out.

His flashlight flickered.

"No," he muttered quietly. The light flickered again, and he shook it slightly. It went out. "NO! Damnit, no!" In the pitch black of the tunnel, he began to gasp for air, and frantically he clawed at the dirt in front of him. Panic began to overtake his rationality and he screamed as he violently dug at the obstruction. "God, please, no. Help me! Somebody help me!"

And then he thought he heard it.

He screamed again, "Hello? Hello? Is someone there? Please, God..."

He listened and he heard a clump of dirt on the other side of the wall he was digging into fall to the ground. Then the sound of an ax grinding into it and another clump of dirt and debris.

"Help me!"

The sound of digging on the other side ceased momentarily and he heard a muffled voice, "Hello? Is someone in there?"

"Yes," Ziegler yelled, "Yes!"

"Hold tight, we'll have you out soon," he could barely hear the voice through the packed dirt.

And Toby Ziegler leaned back against the wall of the dark tunnel imprisoning him, and he wept.

* * *

Sam's voice was soft, tired, "He's been gone a long time." 

"Yeah," Sullivan responded. "Might be that he had to start digging on the other end."

Sam shivered slightly. "Or it could be that he had a complete and utter meltdown and is lying completely incapacitated in the middle..."

"It's that bad?"

"Yeah, it's that bad."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know," Sam said simply, "he's never said."

"You'd think someone as highly placed as he is on the White House ladder wouldn't be allowed to have a phobia like that."

"Why not? It's claustrophobia, not kleptomania. He's a speechwriter, Agent Sullivan, not a rescue worker or a plumber. We don't usually expect him to sit in a dark, small space and write the president's remarks."

"Point well taken," Sullivan conceded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Seaborne, I guess I'm not being very understanding or generous right at the moment."

"It's not surprising," Sam answered. "We're stuck here, wherever here is, neither of us can really move, and I don't know about you, but I'm getting awfully thirsty."

"And cold..."

"Cold? You're cold?"

"Yeah," Sullivan answered.

"I'm hot."

"You're probably running a fever from that break in your leg." Sullivan smiled ironically, even though Sam couldn't see it in the dark. "And I'm cold from blood loss."

"Blood loss?"

"Yeah," Sullivan said nonchalantly, "the girders cut into my legs."

"Oh Jesus, why didn't you say something?"

"Nothing you can do, Sam," Sullivan said gently, "You can't move, and even if you could, I doubt your law degree's prepared you for anything like this."

Sam let the awful silence of truth lie between them for a moment. Then he said, "Do you suppose it's possible that the president made it?"

"I honestly don't know, but since we're still here, I'd say it's at least possible that he's still alive." He licked his lips. "Hell, maybe he's out already. That would be a good thing, eh Sam?"

"That would be a great thing," Seaborne agreed quietly. "Do you think we have a chance?"

Sam heard Sullivan let out a long breath of air before he said, "A chance, sure; a good probability, I honestly doubt it, or they would have reached us by now."

"That's what I thought."

* * *

CJ didn't want to go into the room. There was nothing new she could tell them. She could shed no light on a completely abysmal situation, nor could she offer any kind of hope. She did not want to go into the blue room. She opened the door to digital flashes and the glaring lights of cameras, and the frenzy that could only be the White House Press Corps. 

"CJ, CJ, CJ!!!!"

"Settle down," Cregg said calmly, "settle down or I'll send in Fitzwallace, and I doubt you want to deal with him this morning..." After a moment, they calmed down and took their seats, eagerly awaiting her briefing. "At this hour the rescue crews continue to dig for survivors. A battalion of Marines has been deployed to the scene and they are working alongside firefighters, EMTs and members of the secret service to free those who may be trapped in the hotel debris. Acting-president Hoynes is receiving timely updates concerning the situation, while monitoring all foreign and national issues regarding the nation. Currently, President Bartlet, Leo McGarry, Toby Ziegler, Sam Seaborne and four members of the president's service detail are still missing."

"CJ, CJ, CJ!"

"Simon..."

"Is there any estimate on how long the crews believe it will take to reach survivors?"

"At this time, Director Marsh, who is coordinating the emergency crew efforts, does not have an estimate. It will depend upon how much debris is there and how slowly it must be removed in deference to safety precautions... Bill..."

"Is Acting-president Hoynes planning on moving forward with any outstanding legislation in President Bartlet's absence?"

"I believe that President Hoynes' main concern right now is the safe return of President Bartlet and his staff, but obviously, he will act in the best interest of the country upon anything that arises during the time he is responsible for the nation's welfare... Christine..."

"How does this rescue effort compare with that of the World Trade Center in 2001?"

"While I am not qualified to answer that question in an official capacity, I'd like to point out that this situation does not involve jet fuel burning at an incredibly intense heat, and also, my understanding is that the way in which the hotel collapsed, naval architects are convinced that there are many air pockets standing amongst the debris in which survivors will be found... Danny..."

"Stock market trading was suspended as of this morning; how long do you anticipate the suspension to last?"

"Acting-president Hoynes and the cabinet have suspended trading indefinitely."

"So how long?" Suzanne yelled out.

"That would be indefinitely, Suzanne, as in however long the acting-president and the cabinet feel that it's necessary to safeguard our economy... Stanley..."

"Do you think the president is still alive?"

The room froze in sudden silence, and CJ felt all eyes pressing into her with a white hot heat. She forced her emotions down and tried to remain calm, "Well Stanley, let me just pull out my little crystal ball and see if I can answer that with my all-knowing, omnipotent ability to tell fortunes."

"Answer the question, CJ," he pressed.

"Yeah, Stanley, because we all know I have x-ray vision, am faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive and can leap tall buildings in a single bound."

"I'm asking for your opinion, CJ."

"I'm a press secretary, Stanley, not a CNN analyst; I deal with facts, not presumptions. I'll see you all back here this afternoon."

CJ quickly escaped the room amidst a frenzy of yelling. As soon as the door closed, CJ felt her knees buckle and the tears she had been holding back spill down her cheeks. Carol grabbed her boss by the arm, gently supporting her.

"CJ?"

"I'm...I'm..." She looked into Carol's concerned eyes. "I'm gonna be sick..."

Carol ushered CJ into her office and held the wastebasket underneath her just in time. Gently, she guided Cregg to sit on her couch.

"I'll go get you a cold cloth for your head. Just sit tight."

In the time it took for Carol to go the ladies room and wet a towel and bring it back, CJ had vomited twice more. Carol took the basket away from Cregg and pressed her head between her knees, placing the wet cloth on the back of her neck. As she walked out with the soiled can, she passed Danny Concannon heading in.

"Danny...please don't--"

"--I won't, Carol, don't worry." Danny walked into the room to find CJ sitting on the couch, holding her head. Wordlessly he sat down next to her, gripping the cold compress and kneading the muscles gently beneath it. "That last question really got to you, didn't it."

"Please go away."

"You really want me to?"

"No, but I don't want to answer any questions right now."

"You don't have to," he said softly, continuing to rub her neck. "I'm not here as a reporter right now, but as a friend. I'm sorry this had to happen, CJ."

"Me too."

"You did well at the briefing, and it was an extremely difficult one."

"I know I'm not supposed to have feelings about the statements I deliver, Danny, I know that." She lifted her tearstained face to look at him. "But how can I not have feelings about the people I work with day in and day out? Can you tell me how I'm supposed to do that?"

"No," he whispered, allowing his hand to rub her back, "I really can't."

And CJ Cregg, Press Secretary to the President of the United States collapsed into the waiting arms of Senior White House Correspondent Danny Concannon. For the briefest of seconds, CJ wondered what the analysts on CNN would have to say about that if they knew; but the moment passed quickly, and she realized she didn't care.

* * *

The strong light that suddenly pierced the dark space he'd been confined in caused him to throw an arm across his eyes. 

"Sir? Are you all right, sir?" A voice from the light asked. "Are you hurt?"

"My hand..." Toby stuttered, "It's just my hand. I can walk."

He crawled toward the opening and was then lifted out of the hole by strong arms and hands. He recognized the battle fatigues as Marine issue as two of the men began to lead him away.

"Wait, hold it!"

"We need to get you out of here, sir," the lieutenant responded, "the building is not secure and we have been instructed to remove anyone we find immediately to safety."

"I understand, lieutenant...?"

"McCracken, sir, Lt. McCracken."

"I'm Toby Ziegler, Lt. McCracken, White House Director of Communications. There are two more men down at the end of that tunnel. Sam Seaborne, Deputy Communications Director, and Secret Service Agent Sullivan."

"Sir, yes sir, we'll go get them. But right now, you need to go with these men."

"I'd really rather wait for--"

"--Sir, all due respect, but I need you to go with these men."

"But Sam and Agent Sullivan, I can't just lea--"

"--Mr. Ziegler, I promise you we'll get to them, but you have to exit the area, sir. It's not secure."

Begrudgingly Toby turned and allowed the Sergeant still holding his arm to lead him out of the area. As soon as he cleared the debris, the devastation of the destruction gripped his heart. "Oh my God..."

"Mr. Ziegler," a man said. "I'm Secret Service Agent Parnum. Homeland Security Director Marsh wants to debrief you."

"The President?"

"Sir?"

"Is the President all right?"

Parnum stared at him blankly for a moment. "We were hoping you would be able to tell us..."

Toby turned toward the building again. "Oh God, that means that he's..."

And Parnum was barely able to grab Toby's arm to stop him from running back into the collapsed ruins. "Mr. Ziegler, you can't go back in there, sir."

"But you just said that--"

"--Yes sir. I need to get you to Director Marsh."

"But the President--"

"--Mr. Ziegler... Toby," his voice turned gentle, "I swear to you that we will find him. But right now I need you to be debriefed by Director Marsh. Any information you have on the situation inside could prove invaluable in the recovery of President Bartlet."

Toby stopped dead and stared at Parnum as his face drained of all color. "Recovery? You don't think he's alive..."

Parnum looked away then back at Ziegler. "I apologize, Mr. Ziegler, it was a poor choice of words. We don't know the condition of the president."

"So that means you've found neither Ron Butterfield nor Leo McGarry, because there's no way on earth that either one of them would leave him in there, unless they were--Oh God--are they...?"

"They are both still missing, sir."

"But you haven't been able to raise Ron Butterfield?"

"No sir, we have not."

Toby let out a heavy breath. "What about Josh Lyman and CJ Cregg? They were with us last night..."

"They're fine sir, both of them are at the White House."

"Can you call Josh and let him know that Sam and I are okay?"

"Yes sir, this way..."

* * *

Donna ran through the corridors, bumping into whomever was in her way, holding the cellphone out in front of her as she went. "Josh! Josh!" 

He was leaning in CJ's office doorframe, when he turned at the sound of her voice. "Donna?"

"Agent Parnum," she said excitedly as she handed him the phone.

"Yes? Agent Parnum? It's Josh Lyman..." He listened intently as Donna, CJ, Carol and Danny stared at him. "Yes? Yes? Oh, thank God..." He turned to the others, saying, "They found Toby, Sam and Agent Sullivan, they're a little beat up, but okay... Agent Parnum, what about the president? Did you find him?" He listened again, and this time the four watching could tell it wasn't what any of them wanted to hear. "Okay, thanks for letting us know, and Agent Parnum, I'll pass this along to Acting-president Hoynes, and please, keep me updated."

He closed the phone and turned to the rest of them. "There's still no news about President Bartlet or Leo..."

"Where are Toby and Sam?" CJ asked.

"They're with Jack Marsh right now being debriefed and then they'll be taken to GW for treatment."

"Treatment?" Donna said, "It's that bad?"

"Sam's leg is busted up and so's Toby's hand. Agent Sullivan's ankles were crushed..." He looked at Danny. "This is not for publication."

"Hey, I told CJ earlier, I'm just a guy standing here, off the record. I came to lend support as a friend. I'll let you know when I'm a reporter."

Josh smiled slightly. "Thanks, Danny, you're a pretty good guy for a member of the press..."

"Yeah, don't tell my editor; he wouldn't appreciate such nuances in my personality."

"Can we go to the hospital?" Carol asked.

"Yeah, in a few hours. CJ needs to prep the next briefing and I need to go see Hoynes..."

"Do you think there's a chance that...?"

Josh looked at Donna. "We have to believe that they're okay. The alternative is just..."

"Yeah."

* * *

Mrs. Landingham glanced over at Charlie and observed him staring off into space. "Charlie? Everything okay?" 

"Yes ma'am." And he restated quickly, "Yes, Mrs. Landingham."

"Really? Because it doesn't look okay from over here."

Young looked down at his desk for a moment, then over at her. "I was just thinking is all."

"About the President?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I know this is difficult, Charlie. I know that it is especially difficult for you." He stared at her, uncomprehendingly, and she smiled at him. "Oh Charlie. Do you actually believe that you've hidden how you feel about him?"

"Well, I--"

"--I'm an old hand at picking out subtle nuances of behavior, young man."

"Yes ma'am."

"There's no shame in saying that you love him."

Charlie's eyes darted to hers in guilt. "But I--"

"--Charlie..."

"You don't think that makes me look kind of...little girlish?"

"No, I don't. Tell me something. Do you think that Mr. McGarry cares for the president?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Do you think he loves him?"

"Yes ma'am, in a manly sorta little brother way..."

"Do you think Leo's ever told him?"

"Well I... I don't know ma'am."

"Have you ever thought of Mr. McGarry or the president as 'little girlish,' Charlie?"

"No, ma'am, definitely not. I think Mr. McGarry would promptly kick the a--" He stopped himself and looked over at her, but he couldn't read her expression. "I don't think Leo would respond well to someone saying that about him or the president."

"No, I don't suppose that he would." She returned to her typing.

"Mrs. Landingham?"

"Yes Charlie?" She didn't look up but instead kept working.

"I love him like..."

"Yes Charlie?" She looked at him then.

"I love him like a father."

"I know, Charlie." She smiled and returned her attention to the computer. "When he gets back, you might consider telling him that sometime..."

Charlie Young didn't answer her, but he knew in his heart that if he was fortunate enough to get the president back in one piece, he would.

* * *

Margaret tried to concentrate on her work, but it was difficult. On a normal day, Leo would bellow her name every five minutes or so, but today the office was much too quiet, and strangely, the stillness of it distracted her. She finished typing the memo, printed it and placing it in a folder, carried it into his office. She set it neatly on his desk, where the rest of the folders she'd been working on lay untouched, and she felt the emotion she'd tried to squelch rear up at her. Biting her lower lip, she forced it down and turned, almost running into Ginger who appeared in the doorway. 

"Margaret! Didja hear the news?"

Margaret's heart raced: perhaps Leo and the president were all right! "What news?"

"They found Mr. Ziegler and Sam Seaborne!"

While she was relieved that Toby and Sam were all right, her heart fell. "That's great, Ginger. I'm glad they're okay."

"Wow, you don't sound that happy about it."

"I'm...I am. I'm just really busy right now."

"What are you working on with Leo gone?"

Margaret glared at her friend. "I have a lot to do. When Leo comes back, all the memos and reports that are supposed to be handled better be, or they'll be hell to pay."

Ginger watched Margaret move past her and sit back down at her desk in the outer office as if it was business as usual, and her heart wrenched for her friend. "Margaret..."

"There's just always so much work to do for him. Organizing files, rescheduling meetings, typing up all of his correspondence and memos to staff--"

"--Margaret--"

"--The phone almost never stops ringing, and my God when he's here he just never stops yelling for me to bring him a file, a coffee, or get him somebody on the phone and--"

"--Margaret!"

Finally Margaret stopped rambling and looked up at Ginger.

"Margaret...they found Toby and Sam. They didn't find Leo or President Bartlet. What if they don't?"

"Don't say that, Ginger. Don't even put that out there. You can't say something like that. How could you even _think_ that?"

"Margaret, I want them to be okay too, but I really think you should prepare yourself for the worst case scenario. Just in the event that--"

"--No!" Margaret yelled as she stood from her desk. "No, I will not think like that. Leo and the President are fine, and I don't want to hear anything to the contrary!"

Angrily Margaret picked up a file and stomped past Ginger and into Leo's office, slamming the file down onto his desk. "He's fine."

Ginger once again appeared in the doorway of Leo's office and watched Margaret collapse in his desk chair, tears rolling down her face. Ginger walked over and hugged her friend tightly. "I'm sorry, Margaret. I didn't mean to make you cry. I just want you to be prepared, just in case..."

"Don't you understand, Ginger? I don't want to prepare. Not for that. Not _ever_ for that."

Ginger nodded, guilt filling her. "I'm sorry..."

Margaret's tears spilled onto the memos on Leo's desk, but for once his ever efficient assistant could have cared less. She honestly didn't know how she would cope with the worst case scenario, except to be devastated by the loss. And she feared that she would spend the rest of her life nursing a broken heart that couldn't possibly mend...


	7. Chapter 7

Jed's legs were beginning to ache from supporting most of Leo's weight, and he longed to stand up and stretch them. He glanced over toward the beam of his agent's flashlight and wondered why it hadn't moved in awhile.

"Ron?" He called softly.

After a long beat, Butterfield responded in a tight voice, "Yes sir?"

"Everything okay over there?"

"Yes sir."

But Bartlet could hear the distress in the man's tone. As gently as he could, Jed lifted Leo's upper body and slowly extracted himself out from under, lying Leo carefully back down, adjusting Ron's jacket over him and his own jacket under his head. Leo moaned slightly, but didn't come to. Jed felt his friend's brow and frowned at the heat of his fever. He loosened McGarry's tie and pulled it off, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He rubbed his hand lightly over his best friend's chest.

"I'll be right back, Leo," he said softly, "just rest easy."

Jed stood, shaking his legs out a little, and pulling the flashlight from his pocket, worked his way over to the other light in the chamber. And as he suspected, he found Butterfield sitting on a concrete block, doubled over in pain. The president put a light hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Ron? How ya doin'?"

Startled by the touch, Ron grunted, "Mr. President, you need to stay by the retaining wall..."

"Uh-huh. How bad is it Ron?"

Trying his best to straighten up, the agent feigned ignorance. "How bad is what, sir?"

Jed sighed audibly, his tone turning brittle, "How badly are you injured, Agent Butterfield?"

"Sir..."

"I want you to look at me and answer the question, Ron."

Butterfield looked up at him then, pain dulling his dark eyes. "It's bad enough that I didn't stand in your presence, sir."

Bartlet nodded slowly. "Okay, Ron. Can you stand if I help you?"

Butterfield shook his head, his voice squeaking out through gritted teeth, "Not at this moment, Mr. President."

"What hurts?"

Ron shook his head. "I'll be fine, Mr. President, and I'd really prefer that you head back over to the retaining wall where it's safer. If this rubble shifts again, there's no telling--"

"--For God's sake, Ron, Leo's lying over there unconscious, and you're doubled over in pain, but by all means, let's worry about the one person in the room who's perfectly fine."

Ron closed his eyes in pain as he tried to draw in a breath.

Jed's voice turned gentle then, "Is it difficult to breathe?"

Butterfield whispered begrudgingly, "Yes sir." Bartlet reached for Ron's chest to check him, but Butterfield shook him off. "Mr. President, my welfare is not your concern, and I must ask you, sir, to return to the safest area available to us right now."

"Ron--"

"--Mr. President, I say this with all due respect, sir, but you need to do as I ask. Secret Service procedure does not--"

"--Agent Butterfield, I don't give a damn about your procedure right now," Jed bellowed, "And don't treat me as if I'm some kind of porcelain doll that's going to break if I have to actually DO something. Both you and Leo have been seriously injured trying to protect me, and now you're going to accept my help without lecturing me on some inane secret service procedure--"

"--It's my job, Mr. President."

"Don't patronize me, Agent Butterfield."

"Sir, I didn't mean to--"

"--And don't interrupt me, agent, I'm not through. I will not stand idly by while you kill yourself trying to dig through a wall of concrete, debris and dirt, only to find out that it leads to another impassable wall of concrete, debris and dirt. My guess is that by now, Percy Fitzwallace has called out the military and they are, at this very minute, using every means available to them to get us the hell out of this pit, and our job is to sit here quietly and stay alive. All three of us, Ron, not just me."

The two men stared at each other, a silent test of wills being waged. After several minutes of quiet, and a lack of verbal acknowledgment from Butterfield, Bartlet's impatience took its toll.

"Well, don't you have _anything_ to say for yourself?" The agent's dark eyes narrowed in anger, something Bartlet had never seen the man allow himself. "Go ahead Ron, say it," he challenged.

And after a moment of fighting all his years of training, an emotional edge crept into Butterfield's timbre; one that Jed had never heard. "Mr. President, has anyone ever told you that you're an overly sentimental son-of-a-bitch?" The statement had the effect that Ron was looking for: Jed Bartlet was stunned into silence. "You pull everyone in with your damned sincere affection, to the point that any of us - secret service and senior staff alike - would gladly walk through fire for you if it was your pleasure. And the worst part sir, is the fact that you don't even know you do it. You don't even realize the power of your own passion for people; and that has nothing to do with the power of the office, although it's certainly magnified by it." Ron shook his head, trying to get air into his lungs and he grimaced slightly in pain. "You care too much and too deeply about everyone around you, and I'm afraid that--" Ron's voice cut off, his own emotions closing down his throat. Kneeling next to Butterfield, Bartlet placed a soft hand on the agent's forearm, and Ron swallowed hard to hold back the tears filling his eyes. "I'm afraid that it will destroy you," he said quietly. Ron looked Jed in the eye then. "I'm trained to protect you from almost every threat imaginable, Mr. President, but I don't know how to protect you from yourself."

Bartlet's voice was as soft as a whisper, "I don't think agents on my detail are allowed to be afraid of anything, Ron."

"We're not, sir."

Bartlet smiled wearily as he squeezed the arm under his hand. "Come on, Ron, let me help you up, and you can keep an eye on me from over there, where it's 'safer.'"

Butterfield allowed the president to help him to his feet, but then said, "You look after Leo, sir, I need to keep working on a way out of here."

"Ron--"

"--No sir, Mr. President. I appreciate your kindness, but like so many things between an agent and his protectee, this isn't something we discuss, it's a procedure, and I need to follow it."

"Okay," Bartlet capitulated softly, "Okay."

Butterfield watched the leader of the free world carefully make his way back to Leo McGarry, and satisfied that his protectee would stay put for awhile, Ron slowly forced himself to begin digging again. But he didn't know how much longer he could last...

* * *

McCracken was more exhausted than he could ever remember, but he kept himself and his men digging. So far, his crew was the only one to find survivors. The other men, working in different areas around the rubble had only discovered bodies. That thought made him inwardly shudder; what if they'd found the only survivors? What if the president...

He couldn't allow himself to think that way. It was counterproductive and defeatist, and not befitting of the uniform he was wearing.

"Keep it goin' fellas," he encouraged, "we need to keep it goin'..."

But how long could they allow themselves to believe survivors would last in the rubble? He dug harder into the earthen wall in front of him, not wanting to contemplate the answer. And then he heard it. The sound of someone crying.

"Hold it!" He yelled. "Listen!"

And they all heard it. Frantically the soldiers concentrated on the area closest to the muffled sounds of weeping until finally one of them broke through.

"It's a woman, lieutenant!"

McCracken and his crew pulled out a woman, followed by five men, all of them hurt, but still alive.

"Let's go!" Shouted McCracken. "Get these people out of here and to the EMTs. Move it!"

As soon as they had been safely removed, McCracken returned his attention to the task at hand. But as happy as he was to find survivors, some part of him was defeated by the fact that it hadn't been the one man they all so desperately sought...

* * *

Marsh set down his radio and turned to Parnum. "Six more survivors..."

"The president?"

"Not yet."

"Damn."

"Whaddya know about the rest of the crews?"

"Aside from exhausted, we've recovered 21 bodies and 11 survivors, including Ziegler and Seaborne."

"That leaves 31 unaccounted for, including POTUS, McGarry and two members of his detail."

"Yes sir."

"Where are we on the investigation?"

"We've had some movement on that end..."

* * *

Hoynes sat to the right of the head chair reserved for the president at the Sit room table; he simply couldn't bring himself to sit in it. Not yet anyway. Not like this. His eyes wandered across to the vacant chair usually occupied by Leo McGarry and his stomach turned. This was going to be so much harder without the man they all relied on to see to it that no matter how bad things were today, America would still be there tomorrow. What was the line everyone in the West Wing fell back on when things got rough?

Ah yes, 'Leo will know what to do.'

And Leo _would_ know what to do. He was vaguely aware of Fitzwallace droning on about something, but he hadn't been listening until the booming voice turned in his direction...

"Sir? Are you with us, sir?"

"What?" Hoynes started as he looked right into the emblazoned eyes of Admiral Percy Fitzwallace; on his worst day the man was incredibly intimidating. "I'm sorry, admiral, I was..." What could he say he was doing? Daydreaming during a security briefing in the Situation Room? Hoynes shook his head. "I'm sorry, Admiral Fitzwallace, please continue."

"Yes sir," Fitz replied dubiously. "I was saying that sources coming through Homeland Security place the responsibility of the hotel bombing with Citizens for a Fascist America."

"Pardon me, admiral," Hoynes said, "but it seems like we culled that awfully fast."

"Yes sir, the Secret Service moved very swiftly in order to uncover all the leads at their disposal and determine those responsible."

"So why didn't they know about it before it happened?"

All activity within the room ceased and all eyes turned toward the acting-president.

"Excuse me?" Fitzwallace said, not attempting to cover the irritation from his tone.

Hoynes fought the urge to swallow hard as the big admiral glared at him from a chair away. "I'd like to know how it is that the Secret Service landed on this information so quickly after the fact? Shouldn't the agency's priority be to root out this sort of thing _before_ the bomb actually goes off?"

"I don't know, Mr. _Vice-President_, but maybe they didn't receive your memo on revised security procedures and antiterrorist techniques."

"That's Acting-President, Admiral Fitzwallace, and I'm not being flippant in my question. It's just that the president and his chief of staff are still missing, and I'm trying to understand how it is that we've found the time to uncover something we should have known beforehand, and why it is that we haven't found President Bartlet."

"You don't get it, do you?" Fitzwallace growled. "This was accomplished with inside assistance. We need to find out who it was and how this organization slipped such a person on the inside, and put the bastard away for treason. Surely you can understand that, can't you?"

Before Hoynes had a chance to come back at him, Nancy McNally jumped in. "Guys, before this spins out of control, let's remember that we're all on the same team, okay?" She waited until the staring contest between the two men ceased and they both looked at her. "What Admiral Fitzwallace was leading up to, sir, is to tell you that we know where the organization's hub is located, and we've got teams in place for a strike which will hopefully round up most of its members for questioning. We just need your order to put it in action."

"My order?" Hoynes said. "Homeland Security doesn't need a presidential go ahead for something of this nature..."

"It's not the Secret Service, sir," Nancy said. "It's a military strike force."

"Military... We need that much firepower for a gunfight with a few guys in the woods?"

"This isn't a bunch of hicks in the sticks, _Acting-president_ Hoynes," Fitz rumbled, "It's a bunch of wealthy college kids using the latest technology and some impressive weaponry. Frankly sir, I don't know how the Secret Service would fare up against them in a 'gunfight.'"

"This is best left to the military," Hutchinson broke in. "Our guys wouldn't want to handle it either, and we've got bigger guns than either the FBI or the Service..."

Feeling like the kid nobody wanted to have lunch with in the fifth grade, Hoynes licked his lips and looked at the only slightly friendly face in the room. "Nancy?"

"Sir?"

"I'm asking for you to weigh in on this."

Her eyes darted toward the empty seat across from Hoynes at the table, and realized that the man was at a terrible disadvantage. President Bartlet always had Leo in moments like these, and Leo could stand toe to toe with anybody in the room. All the active servicemen respected him, and guys like Fitzwallace genuinely liked him. For her part, as national security advisor, she admired Leo's intelligence and courage in making the tough calls, and on a personal level adored his kind heart and wit. And everyone in the room knew that when the stakes were this high and hairy, President Bartlet relied on Leo McGarry to steer him in the right direction. Hoynes was without experience in such a situation, and was not oblivious to the disdain many in the room had for him. He was utterly alone, and he knew it.

Nancy's voice softened, "I'd go in, sir. There's no down side for us. If President Bartlet and Leo both make it out alive, then we have the people in custody who killed the innocent bystanders; and if God forbid, they don't make it out, then we have the people in custody who killed the president, his chief of staff and several innocent bystanders. And even more than that, we'll have leads pointing us toward the person or persons on the inside who thought they could get away with killing the president. We should go in. There's no down side for us."

"What about the risks?"

"Risks?" Fitz asked.

"Yes, admiral. The risks to the military unit, to the people in the organization, and to anyone caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"The soldiers understand the risks to military service, sir, but if our intelligence is correct regarding the firepower inside the building, we could lose about 14 of the forces going in. The risk to any bystanders is minimal since we'll clear the area before we go in. And as for any risk to the individuals inside, I really don't give a damn, sir. They shoulda thought of that before they launched an attack on the President of the United States."

Hoynes swallowed, looked at Nancy for silent support, then back at Fitzwallace. "Okay, admiral, go."

* * *

CJ gently pushed the heavy door and peered inside, then turned and motioned for the others to follow. "Hi Spanky," she said as she leaned over Sam, kissing his forehead. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay," Seaborne said sleepily, "painkillers are making me loopy."

"And that's different...how?" Toby asked from the other bed in the room. He looked at CJ then. "Sam got a kiss. What do I get?"

She walked over to his bed, sat down on the edge and leaned in close. "Other than a stern talking to, Pokey?" CJ gently pressed her lips on his for a moment, then brushed a soft hand over his forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Hand hurts a little, but they're probably going to let me go tomorrow morning."

"Thank God," Sam muttered.

"A little tired of his sense of humor?" Josh asked.

"Josh, you know on his best days Toby doesn't have a sense of humor."

Lyman gently slapped Sam on the shoulder. "You look okay for a guy who was buried in rubble overnight."

"Yeah."

Ginger and Bonnie both leaned in to kiss Sam on the cheeks.

"How long will you be in here?" Ginger asked.

"Probably about three days," Sam replied. "My leg's broken in three places, and they want to make sure no infection sets in."

"What about physical therapy?" CJ asked.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, it's gonna be awhile before I'm running through the halls of the West Wing, but the orthopedic surgeon thinks I'll make a full recovery."

"And you, Pokey?" CJ looked into Ziegler's dark eyes.

He held up his cast-enclosed hand. "Broke most of the bones in it, but eventually it will be fine." He glanced over at Ginger. "I believe my handy assistant will be doing most of the typing for me."

"Do I get pie?"

Toby hid the smile that started to pull at his lips. "Only if you do it very well."

"What about the president?" Sam asked quietly.

Josh looked at him sadly. "Nothing yet, Sam. They um, found a couple more people. Six to be exact, but there's been no sign of President Bartlet or Leo yet."

Toby shook his head. "They couldn't have been that far from where they found us. They were walking right in front of us. I tried to tell Marsh that..."

"The thing is," Josh said gently, "with blasts like that and the subsequent shudder when the building collapsed, debris packs in, leaving only pockets. So even though you guys weren't far when you were walking, there could be a truckload of dirt and concrete between you."

"Yeah, thanks," Toby said.

CJ took Ziegler's good hand in her own. "Andi's on her way back from the free trade conference in Canada. She should be here in a few hours."

"Okay," Toby's voice was almost a whisper.

CJ exchanged a worried look with Josh. "Hey, come on, Pokey, we're all really glad that you and Sam are here and that you're both all right."

"Yeah, but what about the president and Leo?"

"They'll find 'em, Toby," Josh assured.

"And if they don't we get Hoynes and Jeffrey?" Toby shot back. When no one responded, Toby growled, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Hey, Tobus," CJ cooed, "there's a ton of people looking for them. They'll find them." Toby's dark eyes darted to hers, looking for the assurance he needed that those closest to his heart would survive. "They'll get them out, and they'll be okay."

"I hate this," he whispered as his eyes filled with moisture.

"I know," she said quietly, pulling him into her arms. "I know."

* * *

He couldn't remember the last time he'd told her he loved her. On a very intimate level, Jed knew Abbey didn't need to be told, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd said the words. He sighed letting his head roll against the wall he was leaning on. It was Friday, and they hadn't made love since Monday. Monday... that was the last time he'd said the words. Monday. It was too long to go without voicing it. Too long to go without holding her naked body tightly against his. Why had he let the burdens of the office distract him from her? A woman as beautiful and smart as Abbey deserved to have her man fawn over her and make love to her every night of her life. Did she really know how much he deeply loved her? What if he hadn't told her enough?

Jed closed his eyes against the sadness that closed down upon him like a woolen cloak on a hot summer's day. It threatened to suffocate and pull the very life from him. Abbey... God how he wanted to hold her just once more, and tell her how much his heart adored her and how his soul needed her. Tears stung his eyes as his thoughts drifted to what she must be going through. And he prayed that the girls were there with her. His girls. That's who they all were, the Bartlet women. They were Jed's girls. Abbey was the first and the light of his life, who gave him Liz, her mother's equal in strength, possessing a heart as big as the largest ocean; and then Abbey gave him Ellie, the quiet child who inherited her mother's intelligence and passion to save others; and finally, he was given Zoey, the one most like him and if he was honest, the one he pinned his greatest hopes upon. The Bartlet women. Jed's girls. He didn't want to leave them. Hell, he wasn't _ready_ to leave them. But did God understand that?

The soft whimper to his left startled him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes and leaned over toward McGarry, laying his hand on his friend's brow.

"Aw Leo, you're just so damned warm."

McGarry whimpered again in discomfort and Jed opened the water bottle, pouring a little into Leo's mouth, and some over his forehead, softly wiping the cool liquid over McGarry's face. Leo's cry of pain grew more insistent as the fever raged on, and Jed cursed his inability to help as his best friend clutched at his own abdomen in agony. Kneeling by McGarry's shoulders, Bartlet put his hands under his head, cradling it, in a vain attempt to steady him.

"Leo just calm down. I'm here with you. Relax."

But Leo's cries intensified and sweat began to lather his pale face and neck. Jed sat on the floor, gently pulling McGarry's head into his lap. Tears of suffering slipped from Leo's tightly closed eyelids, and his lower lip began to bleed from his teeth biting down on it. And Bartlet was lost to despair when Butterfield quietly appeared next to him, although Jed noted that Ron didn't look much better than Leo.

"He's bleeding into his belly," Ron said.

"How do you know that?"

"Seen it before with trauma victims. He's losing blood into his abdomen and from the looks of his color, it's bad."

"What can we do?"

Ron shook his head. "Not much, Mr. President. He needs surgery."

Bartlet's eyes sharpened with fear. "We can't just leave him like this, Ron. He's in so much pain..."

Butterfield hated seeing the distress in his protectee's eyes almost as much as he hated seeing Leo McGarry writhing in agony.

Leo's eyes opened slightly then, tears flowing freely down the sides of his face. "Jed?" He whispered softly.

"Right here, Leo," Bartlet said brushing a hand over his forehead.

"Hurts...so... bad, Jed," Leo choked out.

Bartlet swallowed hard as he felt the sting of empathic tears. He looked up at Butterfield. "Ron, please, there must be something..."

Ron knelt next to Leo and leaned in. "Mr. McGarry, I need you to tell me exactly where it hurts."

"My stomach," Leo croaked out.

"Yes, sir, but I need to know if it's up here," he said gently pressing on McGarry's upper abdomen, " or down here," he said as he pressed gently lower.

"Here," Leo ground out as he covered Ron's hand with his own, moving it to the exact spot of radiating agony.

"Okay," Butterfield said. "Mr. McGarry, I'm going to lift you up to lean against the president, I think you'll be more comfortable that way. It'll take some of the pressure off the wound inside."

Exerting what little breath and strength Ron had left, he gently raised Leo's upper body into Jed's waiting arms. Bartlet wrapped his arms around Leo's chest. "It's all right now, Leo, I've got you and I swear to God I won't leave you." Bartlet glanced over at Butterfield and saw the difficulty he was having catching his breath. "Ron?"

Butterfield waved him off. "It's nothing, sir. I'll be all right in a minute."

"Come sit down over here, Ron."

"No sir, I'll be fine, really."

"Ron, you've been at it for almost 23 hours. Even in the best of circumstances, that's asking a lot of yourself, and this is far from the best of circumstances. Sit down, at least for a little while, catch your breath."

Butterfield's dark eyes met Bartlet's concerned ones. "Mr. President," he said, "I'm afraid if I sit down, I won't be able to get up, sir."

"Yeah, I thought it was something like that. Sit down anyway, agent. We're not going anywhere until somebody finds us."

"You mean _if_ somebody finds us..."

Bartlet stared at his agent in surprise. "I don't think I've ever heard you say anything like that, Ron. Are you channeling Toby Ziegler all of a sudden?"

Butterfield flushed with embarrassment as he sat down slowly next to the president, leaning against the wall. "No sir. I apologize, Mr. President, I shouldn't have said it."

"Don't be silly Ron, it's sort of funny, the idea of you channeling Toby..."

Butterfield frowned. "I fail to see the humor in that, Mr. President."

"Yes, I'll just bet you don't see the humor." Bartlet chuckled until Leo stirred, moaning. He brushed a hand over his best friend's brow. "Shhhh, Leo."

McGarry settled down slightly and Jed took a sidelong glance at Butterfield. "You're really not lookin' much better than Leo there, Ron."

"I'm really fine, sir. Stop thinking about it."

"Okay, what should we talk about then?"

"Sir?"

"Well, we're just a couple of guys sittin' here... what should we talk about? Girls?"

Butterfield rolled his eyes. "Mr. President, all due respect sir, but we're not two guys sitting here. You are the President of the United States, and I'm the secret service agent assigned to keep you ...safe..."

Bartlet caught the stumble of Ron's voice and looked at him sharply. As soon as Butterfield realized he was under Jed's scrutiny, he switched off the flashlight and slid it into his pocket.

"Conserving the battery?" The president asked flatly.

"Yes sir."

"This isn't your fault, you know." Ron didn't say anything so Bartlet continued, "This isn't your fault." When Butterfield still didn't respond, Jed prompted him, "Ron?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"This isn't your fault."

"Yes it is," Ron whispered. "And there's nothing we can do or say to change that."

"But Ron--"

"--Mr. President? Could we please just be quiet for a little while?"

Sensing the inconsolable guilt from the head of his detail, Bartlet's voice turned soft, "Okay."

And in the crystal dark, President Josiah Bartlet thought he could almost hear the silent tears he knew to be streaming down Ron Butterfield's face.


End file.
